


Say Something

by JhanaMay



Series: I'll be the one, if you want me to [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ash/Dean Winchester - Freeform, Autism, Castiel/OMC - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Minor Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Castiel/Other(s), Past Domestic Violence, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Single Parent Dean, Slow Burn, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Teacher Castiel, minor character death (past)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 250,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4509762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how difficult he can be, Dean loves his son. Raising him alone after his mother died hasn't been easy, but with the support of his family and friends, Dean has made it work. Now that Ben is starting kindergarten, Dean hopes that he can finally relax a little, but the challenges Ben faces at school make Dean realize that their struggles are just beginning. When Ben is assigned a new support teacher, Dean finds that Ben isn't the only Winchester who has a problem dealing with change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr](http://jhanamay.tumblr.com/). I love talking to people! 
> 
> My wonderful, amazing friend Mari made me this beautiful video to go with my story! Go check it out [Destiel - Say Something](https://youtu.be/0shuDeUPRMY)
> 
> There is also a second version of the video here: [Destiel - Say Something Version 2 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hKo8wy27Kw)
> 
> There's a playlist of songs to go along with this fic now. The playlist contains both songs that were named or alluded to in the fic, as well as the songs that I had in mind when I described music playing. The songs are listed in the order they appear, so if you follow along, you can figure out which ones are playing in which scene even if they aren’t named in the story. You can find the playlist on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/jhanamay/playlist/59L8163eORDEQAII5FtxrZ)
> 
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> [](http://s102.photobucket.com/user/kirchnsr/media/12928284_10153458567620544_4593277566802390705_n_zpshxvcoxvo.jpg.html)  
> 

Dean tips back his beer for a long pull, only momentarily cursing his weeknight one-beer limit, before gingerly setting it back on the bar. It goes double for tonight, being a school night.  _School night,_  Dean winces with the thought. It’s been a hell of a long time, going on sixteen years, since he's had to worry about anything resembling a school night.

Dean glances over to where his son, Ben, sits in a corner booth, his dark head bent over the latest in a long line of coloring books about planets and outer space. His ever-present stuffed dog, Benson, is sitting on the table next to him. The first day of kindergarten is tomorrow; the first of thirteen years of school nights Dean is going to have to face. That deserves another long swallow if anything does.

Ellen, owner of Harvelle's Roadhouse and his surrogate mother for more years than he cares to remember, slides onto the stool next to him and follows his gaze. "They grow up so fast, honey," she sighs, her eyes finding her own baby girl, now a petite 26-year-old waitress. Jo Harvelle's blond hair is pulled into a messy ponytail that highlights her tomboy aesthetic in direct contrast to the inherent sexiness of the way her cropped-top reveals a sliver of skin every time she moves.

Dean knows well enough that the tomboy wins out every time, a phantom pain in his jaw from the last right hook he took from the girl who has been his sister for more than half his life. "I know, Ellen, I just can't help but wish Lis—"

Ellen cuts him off by laying her head on his shoulder. "Every mom should get to see their baby's first day of kindergarten, Lisa included. It just wasn't meant to be," she says with another sigh. "But he's got you, and you've both got a whole mess of people who love you, so you're gonna be just fine." Shaking off the melancholy, she asks, "He gonna take the bus in the morning?"

"Nah, your old softie gave me the day off so I can take him and pick him up the first day." Ellen's husband, Dean's boss at Singer Salvage and Repair, is sitting in the booth across from Ben. The grizzled man is still wearing his oil stained jeans from the day at the garage, his ratty old ball cap pulled low on his forehead. The twinkle in his eye as Ben hands him a crayon shows that he isn't always as grumpy as he lets on.

"You know," Ellen says, "Jo wasn't much older than Ben when we lost her dad, bless his soul. It was the way Bobby was with her that won me over, a father without trying to replace her father. He's a better man than he wants people to know."

Dean can't help but agree. Although Bobby isn't his father, he’s filled the gap every time John Winchester wasn’t able to be the father his boys needed. John may have brought him into the world, but Bobby Singer had just as big a role in making him the man he is today.

Ellen pulls the straw from her soda and chews on the end as she considers her next words. “It’s hard when you’re bringing them up by yourself. You start to focus so much on the small details that you miss the big picture.” She places a hand on Dean’s arm. “Like taking care of yourself and being a person for yourself, not just your kids.”

Aha, Dean sees where this conversation is going now. Ellen tricked him by coming at it from behind, but it’s a well-worn topic. Since Mary Winchester isn’t here to mother her sons, Ellen is more than happy to take up the mantle.

“Ellen,” Dean begins, intent on giving the same assurances he always does. “I do—”

Ellen cuts him off again. “Don’t give me that tired line, boy. When was the last time you did something for you, that didn’t include Ben? When was the last time you were on a date? Not when you picked up a pretty thing from the Roadhouse, but an honest to goodness date?”

Dean flushes, not just from the embarrassment of talking about his hook-ups with Ellen, but from the knowledge that it’s been almost a year since he’s gotten any action that wasn’t delivered by his own two hands. Not that he’s going to say that. There are just some things a man doesn’t talk about. Instead, he sighs and responds in a tired voice, “I’ve been a little busy, Ellen. When do I have time for dates? And where would I even meet anyone?”

“See, that’s what I mean, Dean. You’ve been like a hermit since Lisa. It’s worse than it was when Ash left.”

That’s where Dean draws the line. He’s not talking about his sex life with the woman who might as well be his mother, and he sure as hell isn’t talking about Ash. Especially considering the last time he  _had_  gotten laid was when her son visited from California last Christmas. Jo may be the little sister he never wanted, but his relationship with Ash has always been distinctly un-brotherly.

Ellen is continuing, resolutely ignoring what she knows Dean doesn’t want to talk about, “You know any of us would watch Ben for you, even overnight. For crying out loud, you’ve got Missouri right next door and she’s always happy to have that boy, day or night.”

“I know, Ellen, I know, ok? I get it, can’t be a hermit. I already got the lecture from Sammy and Jess last week. Jesus, do you guys have a schedule or something?” Dean grouses, finishing off his beer. Sam may be his younger brother, but he sure acts like he knows more about life than Dean does. Considering that he’s been happily married to Jess for four years and living his dream as a lawyer, there might be some truth to that. Not that Dean would ever admit it.

Ellen biffs him sharply on the back of the head. “Watch your mouth, boy. You know we all just want to see you happy.”

Dean sighs deeply. He does know. His family wants the same things for him that he wants for all of them. Of course, he’s had a little harder time finding it than the rest of them. If he’s honest with himself, which he tries really hard to avoid, he  _is_ lonely. He wants to have someone to come home to, someone to help him raise Ben. He certainly doesn’t want to be alone for the rest of his life. An actual sex life that involves regular contact with another body would be fucking fantastic too.

“Sorry, Ellen,” he returns, sufficiently cowed. “I do know. It’s not like I don’t want to be happy. Once Ben is settled in for the school year, I’ll get out there, ok? Try to meet someone.” He hopes that offer is enough to satisfy her.

Ellen puts her arms around him, pulling him in for a quick hug. Dean’s become more comfortable with the affection over the years, but he still finds it unsettling sometimes. “Good. If you ever want us to take Ben, you only have to ask.”

“I better get him home and ready for bed,” he offers in the way of changing the subject. He pushes away from the bar and walks over to where Ben and Bobby are now deeply engrossed in coloring what looks like the International Space Station. What the hell happened to coloring books with kittens and racecars?

Dean kneels down to get eye level with his son and calls his name softly to get his attention. He’s learned the hard way that barging into Ben’s space too abruptly leads to disaster. “Hey, bug, we gotta get goin’. Big day tomorrow,” he says once Ben turns to look at him.

Ben quickly turns back to the book, concentration screwing up his chubby face. “I have to finish coloring this picture.”

Dean cringes internally and looks at the picture Ben has clearly just started. He intended to stop Ben once the last picture was done, but the uncomfortable conversation with Ellen distracted him. Dean glances up at Bobby and their eyes meet in the shared knowledge that Dean has a decision to make. Dean knows that Bobby will back his play either way, but he’s not sure what to do. Let Ben finish the picture, making them way later getting home than Dean wanted? Or insist he finish it another time, taking the crayons and sparking a meltdown that will end with Ben in tears and Dean mentally and emotionally exhausted? Neither is a stellar option.

Jo approaches from behind and places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, a milkshake in her hand in a travel cup. Raising one eyebrow, it doesn’t take words for her to convey her question. Does Dean want her to try? Is it worth sugaring him up with a milkshake to get him into the car without a meltdown? Dean pulls a hand down his face, then around to the back of his neck. Why does it feel like his entire life with Ben is a series of impossible decisions? With the other options not being options at all, Dean makes the latest in a long series of exasperating choices and nods.

Jo takes his place kneeling at Ben’s side, placing the milkshake on the table next to him. She waits until he turns toward her, one hand reaching for the cup before she speaks. “This is for the ride home, buddy. You ready to go? You can have your shake in the car, and you and me can finish this picture the next time you come in.” She tries and fails to keep a questioning, pleading tone out of her voice. Dean knows that tone well, as it’s the one he finds himself falling into every time he’s faced with the unbending force that is his small son’s will.

Dean releases a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding when Ben nods, taking the cup and pushing the crayons away. Jo smiles and helps him out of the booth and into his coat, accepting Dean’s thankful look with another eyebrow quirk. Dean can’t help but be grateful that this slip of a woman became his sister along the way, even if he has gotten his share of black eyes and busted lips from her over the years. They share the same sibling telepathy that he and Sam have always seemed to have, able to communicate entire conversations behind her parent’s backs with nothing but a look.

Jo slides her arm around his waist and tucks herself under his arm as Ellen takes over packing Ben up for the ride home, placing the stuffed dog into his arms. Dean kisses the top of Jo’s head in thanks. “I hope tomorrow goes ok,” she offers, giving words to the thought that Dean has been stubbornly ignoring every time he thinks about taking Ben to school.

“I’ve been prepping him, you know? Talking about how much fun it’s gonna be, how he’s gonna make new friends, and what’s gonna happen tomorrow morning different from usual. He doesn’t say much, but he hasn’t said he doesn’t want to go, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”

Jo nods and squeezes a little tighter before letting go. “Bring him in tomorrow after school for a first-day celebration.”

“Will do, Joanna Beth,” he responds with the full name he knows she hates, unable to stop being the annoying big brother despite his gratitude for the way she saved the evening. He’s fully expecting the fist to his stomach that he gets in return, but he still grunts with the impact before laughing.

Bobby pushes himself out of the booth and scowls. “You two idjits knock it off. You’d think you were kids, the way you’re always beatin’ on each other. Get that boy home so he can get a good night’s sleep. Kids need their rest.”

Dean nods in agreement. “Sure thing, Bobby. Thanks again for letting me take off tomorrow.”

Bobby just grunts in response and ambles toward the back room, where Dean knows he’s going to pour himself a nightcap while Ellen is too busy getting them into the car to notice. Outside, Ellen buckles Ben into his booster seat in the back of Dean’s black ’67 Impala. It’s not the most practical family car, but Dean can’t bear to part with it. The car has been in his family since before he was born. Other than Sam and his dad, it’s the only thing he has left of the life he had before the fire that took his mother when he was four.

Dean thanks Ellen again before firing the engine and pulling away from the curb. No matter how crappy his day or how much stress he’s under, the deep rumble of Baby’s exhaust under him always makes him feel better. It’s been a while since he’s really been able to open her up, since he pretty much always has Ben in the car or is going to work, and he misses the thrill of the way she surges forward when he slams down the accelerator.

Maybe that’s what he needs; not a date, but some quality time with Baby on some deserted back road. Putting along the tiny streets of his suburb in Lawrence, Kansas doesn’t give him much opportunity to let the engine purr, but there’s plenty of hell-of-a-lotta-nothing on the outskirts. Rather than doing chores around the house between dropping Ben off and picking him up, Dean figures he’ll take Baby for a drive like the old days.

It's only a few minutes before Dean is pulling up the drive of their little Cottage-style house. It's not much; only two tiny bedrooms, but it's got a decent yard for Ben's swing set and a garage so he doesn't have to park the Impala outside. After Lisa's accident, with Dean facing life as a full-time single father, he knew he couldn't shoehorn a toddler into the minuscule mobile home he shared with his father. It was okay for the occasional overnight, but Dean wanted Ben to have his own room and a yard; a real home like Dean hadn't had growing up.

So while Dean was handling funeral arrangements with Lisa’s parents, Sam took a few days off work to scout out a handful of prospective houses within Dean’s budget. The paint was peeling, the landscaping needed work, and more than a few things were broken inside the house, but the first time Dean pulled into the driveway, he knew this was their house. It was a house for Ben to grow up in. Being a handy kind of guy, Dean made short work of the paint, the landscaping, and the repairs, and they moved in just a few weeks later.

Little did Dean know at the time, but they were acquiring not just a house, but also the matronly African-American woman who lives next door. The plump elderly woman took the two of them under her wing and soon began watching Ben during the day, taking only enough from Dean to cover what she liked to call her “weed money.” She swatted Dean on the rear with her dish towel the first time he chuckled at the phrase, but from what he can see, she pours every cent he gives her into the elaborate flower beds that surround her house.

“Missouri,” Ben calls as soon as Dean lets him out of the car, running toward where the woman is sitting on her front porch with a glass of tea. He still carries the now sticky milkshake cup and Benson clutched to his chest.

When Ben first started talking, Dean tried to get him to call her Mrs. Mosley, but Missouri would hear none of it. “Child, Mrs. Mosley was my mother,” she scolded him the first time she heard him correct Ben. She immediately turned to slide a piece of fresh-baked apple pie onto a plate for each of them and the conversation was closed. Dean grins with the memory, putting the garage door down and following Ben across the lawn.

“Ben, don’t touch Missouri with your sticky hands. You’ll ruin her pretty dress,” Dean calls after him, to no avail. Ben drops the cup and crawls into Missouri’s lap before Dean has even made it to the porch steps.

“Oh, get on with you, you little flirt,” Missouri responds, her warm chocolate eyes crinkling with her smile. “This old dress has seen plenty of grubby hands.” She snuggles Ben closer, pressing a loud raspberry-kiss to his cheek that makes the boy giggle.

Dean smiles and drops a kiss on the old woman’s cheek. “Must be the lady wearing the dress that makes it so pretty, then.” He takes a seat on the porch swing, sending it rocking.

“You’re a charmer, that’s what you are, boy,” Missouri cackles. Turning back to Ben, she presses her cheek to his. “I’m gonna miss having my partner in crime with me during the day, Benjamin. You never know what kind of trouble I’ll get into all by my lonesome.” Ben doesn't respond, just presses both hands to Missouri’s cheeks, staring into her face like he sometimes does. Dean’s always thought that Ben has an awkward way of looking at a person either too much or not enough.

“After tomorrow, he’ll have to come over before school to catch the bus. I gotta be at the garage before the bus would be picking him up. Then he’ll get off here in the afternoon if that’s still okay with you.” Dean pushes off with his legs a few more times, enjoying the comforting sway of the swing. Another of the little joys that he missed growing up, sitting on a porch swing, rocking. Maybe he should install a swing on their porch in the spring.

“Of course, it is. I’m looking forward to hearing all about the first day of your new adventure," Missouri adds, moving to put Ben down as Dean reluctantly pulls himself up from the swing.

Dean scoops up the milkshake cup from where it’s been dripping its melted goo onto Missouri’s porch. He starts to ask for something to clean up the mess, but Missouri beats him to it, kneeling with a wet rag that was lying on the table next to her before Dean can stop her. Instead, he announces, “Still gotta get a bath and into our PJs, so we get lots of good sleep for tomorrow. Right, champ? Just like we talked about.” 

Thankfully, Ben takes Dean’s hand without protest and the two of them cross back over the yard to their own front porch. After pushing inside, Dean throws his keys on the table beside the front door and scoops Ben up. “Straight into the bath with you,” he rumbles, heading around the corner to the bathroom.

“Cookies for bednight snack,” Ben responds, shucking his clothes as Dean adjusts the water temperature in the tub.

Fully aware that Ben already had a milkshake tonight, Dean opens his mouth to protest, then thinks better of it. Ben has two cookies and milk for snack before bed every night. Tonight is definitely not the night to mess up that routine, no matter how much sugar he’s already consumed. “Of course, buddy, cookies and milk, like always.”

Dean tests the water temperature again and closes the valves before helping Ben crawl over the side of the tub. Ben happily dumps out the assortment of foam planets and stars that were a Christmas present last year from Dean’s father and begins sticking them to the side of the tub. “You play a little while I go get some stuff done, then I’ll be in to soap you up,” Dean tells him. Dean leaves the door to the bathroom open as he walks to the kitchen, and Dean can hear him muttering the names of different constellations to himself.

Puttering around the kitchen, pouring milk and dishing up cookies, then laying out Ben’s pajamas and his clothes for tomorrow, Dean never thought he would enjoy domesticity. Even when he and Ash lived together, they were more like two bachelors. Take-out food most nights and running their laundry to Ellen’s wasn’t exactly the same thing as taking care of a house and child.

Thankfully, the rest of the evening routine goes smoothly. Forty minutes later, a clean little boy shrugs into his pajamas and eats his milk and cookies without complaint before sliding between his constellation sheets. While Ben is getting comfortable, Dean snags his guitar from the stand just inside his bedroom next door. “Sing Nana’s song,” Ben requests, pulling the comforter up to his neck while Dean turns out all but the night light on the side table. It has a shade with cutouts of stars, planets, and spaceships that spins when the bulb warms up, casting the outlines of an entire galaxy on the walls of Ben’s room.

It still makes his heart clench up to hear his son call _Hey Jude_ Nana’s Song. One of the only memories Dean has left of his mother is of her standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes, her belly swollen with Sammy, singing _Hey Jude_ while Dean ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at the table behind her. The late morning sun coming through the window made a halo around her blond hair. He couldn’t have been more than three-years-old at the time, and less than nine months later she was gone.

Dean strums the guitar lightly, finding the weight and repetitive motions comforting. He doesn’t get to play as much as he’d like these days. He and Ash bonded over music, and most of their nights were spent with Ash playing video games while Dean messed around on the guitar. After Ash left, he spent hours in the music store downtown, hanging out and playing. In fact, that’s where he met Lisa when she came in to pick up a part for her mother’s piano. Now, the only time he picks up the guitar is when he’s playing for Ben. He’s the axis around which Dean’s entire life revolves.

Dean makes it through four verses before Ben is snoring softly. He’s reluctant to put the guitar back in its holder, but he still needs to grab a shower and fold the rest of the laundry before bed. He runs a gentle hand across the strings as he sets it down. Someday he’ll get back into playing regularly again.

A quick shower and a full basket of laundry later, Dean grabs his phone out of his jacket pocket before falling into bed. Three missed texts, one each from Sammy and Benny, and a picture message from Ash. Dean shoots off a quick response to Sam’s wish for Ben to have a good day at school tomorrow before opening Benny’s text. Jesus, when was the last time he even saw his friend in person? Three months? Maybe more.

**[Benny] 7:42PM: big day tomorrow**

_[You] 9:51PM: yeah he’s not even acting excited_

**[Benny] 9:53PM: probably just nervous**

_[You] 9:54PM: I guess. you free for lunch tmrw? got the day off to take him_

**[Benny] 9:56PM: Stop in around 12:30 and we’ll go to the little diner down the street**

_[You] 9:59PM: Sure thing_

Benny’s been one of Dean’s best friends since high school, but their schedules almost never mesh up anymore. Benny puts in long hours running a shop downtown where he does repairs and custom work on motorcycles. It’s not that different from what Dean does at Bobby’s, but he could never understand the appeal of two wheels instead of four.

Dean pauses before opening the picture from Ash. Ash has sent racy pictures out of the blue before and Dean kind of hopes it is. He hasn’t gotten off in a few days and could use the encouragement. He opens the picture message to find not a dick picture, but a shot of Ash kicked back on a couch, a busty blond curled into his side, taking a hit from a giant water pipe. The picture has a time stamp from just after seven p.m. Kansas time, so it was early evening in California.

_[You] 10:08PM: jfc man_

Given that the pipe is more likely to contain hash than plain tobacco, knowing Ash, Dean is surprised when the response is immediate.

**[Ash] 10:10PM: Munchkin is off into the big wide world tomorrow**

_[You] 10:11PM: and your celebrating by gettin high?_

**[** **Ash** **] 10:13PM: you know it man. Just wanted to wish him luck on the first day of his servitude to the state**

_[You] 10:16PM: servitude that got you a six figure job, jackass_

**[** **Ash** **] 10:20PM: stockholm syndrome, dude. I’m embracing captivity**

_[You] 10:21PM: you’re a dick_

**[** **Ash** **] 10:23PM: you like my dick and you know it**

_[You] 10:25PM: not tonite though. up early tmrw. go lay it on the chick in the pic_

**[** **Ash** **] 10:28PM: you’re getting old man, she already wandered off with some dude with an abercrombie haircut, but I’ll go get me some. Talk to you on the flip side**

Dean laughs as he sends a final text wishing Ash good luck. Still rocking the same mullet he had in high school, Ash calls anything that isn’t hair-metal worthy an Abercrombie haircut, including Dean’s short style. Plugging the phone into the charger and turning off the screen, Dean rolls over and pulls the covers up to his waist. He falls asleep thinking about all the nights during their four years together that it was their couch Ash was crashed out on and missing all the nights he took for granted not going to bed alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings.
> 
> Also, I don't actually do yoga so please forgive me if I screwed up any of the terminology.
> 
> Check out these amazing character aesthetics for Dean, Cas and Ben made by [Goodnightcas](http://goodnightcas.tumblr.com/).
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> [](http://s102.photobucket.com/user/kirchnsr/media/tumblr_o5dgm3FqWN1vp4t8io1_540_zps04riit1h.jpg.html)  
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> [](http://s102.photobucket.com/user/kirchnsr/media/tumblr_o5da6ozyDq1vp4t8io1_540_zpsdne4qnzc.jpg.html)  
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> [](http://s102.photobucket.com/user/kirchnsr/media/tumblr_o5j8ho2tcM1vp4t8io1_540_zps0o56imsd.jpg.html)  
> 

Castiel spreads out the round rug ringed with letters and numbers in various colors in front of his desk then looks over his classroom. Everything is ready for the first day of school tomorrow. Although there are bright pops of color throughout, the room is mostly painted in a soothing monochromatic beige scheme. Although Castiel knows it is important for the room to be inviting and engaging, he’s sure to keep it from being too overstimulating for his young charges.

Castiel’s new aide, Becky Rosen, is stacking books on the shelf at the back of the room while his co-teacher, Meg Masters, is checking to make sure all of the computers work. The quickest way to spark a tantrum on the first day of school is computers that don’t load Mickey Mouse Clubhouse quickly enough. Meg turns off the last of the computers and joins Castiel by his desk.

“Not too shabby, Clarence,” she offers with a grin. Meg has been calling him Clarence ever since they met at the tiny art gallery where he worked during college in Evanston. Castiel has never understood the nickname but has become far too used to it in the last fourteen years to mind anymore.

The tiny woman pushes a long black curl behind her ear before leveling a glare at Becky. “Jesus, has this woman ever even worked with kids before?” she asks with a sneer. Most people find Meg to be snide and off-putting, but anyone who has seen her work with children has learned to look past her thorny exterior. Meg is much better with kids than she is with adults.

“She has very good references, Meg,” Castiel remarks calmly, returning to his desk to check over the class roster again. “She worked in two different preschools and ran the children’s department at a small library before applying here.”

“She’s bubbly,” Meg responds as if this is the worst damnation. Of course, in Meg’s world, greeting each day with a smile is certainly suspect.

“Being bubbly is not a bad thing when one works with children,” Castiel returns with a sigh. “Not everyone is gifted with your natural acerbic wit to carry them through.” Meg lets out a bark of laughter at what anyone else would consider an insult. She takes the adage  _kn_ _ow thyself_ to heart.

Putting the last book on the shelf, Becky virtually bounces over to them, her lank blond hair draped over her ears. She isn’t a particularly pretty girl, but what she lacks in conventional attractiveness, she more than makes up for in natural good will. “All done, Mr. Novak,” she practically squeals. “I think we’re all ready to start shaping young minds tomorrow.”

Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose in what has become an almost habitual motion. Before speaking, he reaches down and snaps the thick rubber band on his left wrist. Green today, because Tuesday is always green. He lets the resulting calm settle over him before answering, “I’ve told you, Becky, there’s no need to be so formal. Castiel is fine. We’re colleagues here.”

Castiel sees Meg roll her eyes behind Becky’s back before she stalks away to the coat closet. “I know, Mr., uh, Castiel. I just, well, this is such a great opportunity for me, to actually work with kids with special needs, you know? I’m starting my classes this semester for my special ed certificate, so the experience I get here will be really helpful. It’s just so exciting!” Becky pushes the words out in a rush, barely taking a breath and ending with another small squeal.

Castiel can see Meg’s shoulders shaking now, over where she’s taking their coats out, and he knows she’s laughing, damn her. Castiel flicks the rubber band again, taking a moment to consider the appropriate response to Becky’s outburst before settling on, “Yes, well, your enthusiasm is certainly appreciated.” He pushes up from his desk chair to walk her to the door of the classroom. “We’ll see you at eight a.m. tomorrow, Becky.”

He watches Becky flounce down the hallway until she turns the corner to the main door, then moves to the closet where Meg is waiting for him with the long, tan trench coat he wears habitually. She thrusts it at him, muttering darkly, “When I kill her, I’m going to wrap her body in this damn coat. This is your fault, Clarence. You can’t expect me to spend an entire school year with Patty Simcox without resorting to violence.”

Castiel squints his eyes, cocking his head to the side slightly as he considers her words. He snaps the rubber band again before responding, “I don’t understand that reference, Meg.”

“Sweet Jesus, Castiel. Grease? The Pink Ladies?” she returns, exasperated. Castiel squints harder and Meg sighs, shaking her head sadly. “So much is lost on you, Clarence.” She glances down at the band on his wrist as he shrugs into his coat. “What are we snapping for today? World peace?”

Castiel follows her out of the room, snapping the band again before answering. He knows Meg understands the rubber bands, but she enjoys ‘messing’ with him. “When I’m not sure what to say,” he responds. Castiel picked up the habit from a book he read over the summer on mindfulness. Each day he chooses a different thing to concentrate on, usually one of what Meg calls his ‘weird ass quirks,’ and uses snapping the rubber band to keep him focused. “Tomorrow, I think, it will be staring,” he offers with a wry grin.

They stop beside Meg’s dark gray Nissan 370Z coupe. “Awesome,” she responds, a bite in her voice. She throws her bag onto the passenger seat of the little sports car before slamming the door harder than strictly necessary. “Staring is a great choice for the first day of school. Your fucking wrist will be raw by lunch.” Castiel tends to stare too long when he meets new people, so he knows Meg’s concern is legitimate.

“I won’t snap it hard, Meg,” he reassures her. “That just seems like the most likely concern to encounter tomorrow.” Castiel shoves his hands into his pockets so that he doesn’t snap the band, shifting slightly on his feet. He isn’t sure what to say to alleviate her fears.

Meg’s face softens slightly at his obvious discomfort. This is the side of herself she only shows a few people, Castiel being primary. It transports Castiel back to when they first met; when she brought her first-grade class into the gallery for an art class he was offering. He’s reminded that no-one knows him better than Meg, not even his brother Gabriel. Meg is the axis around which his life rotates. “I just don’t like it when you leave marks, Clarence,” she murmurs softly, relenting long enough to rest her head against the center of his chest.

Castiel brings up one hand to stroke her silky hair. This is a motion that would be awkward with anyone else but is completely natural with Meg. Castiel tries to remember the last person he touched that wasn’t Meg or a child, but can’t push himself back that far. “I know,” he says gently. “No marks, I promise.”

Meg sighs deeply and leans away, glancing around the parking lot to see if anyone witnessed her momentary display of sentiment. She seems satisfied that her vulnerability went unnoticed. “Get in, I’ll give you a ride home,” she orders gruffly, sliding behind the wheel.

“I think I’ll walk tonight,” Castiel responds, waiting for his friend’s mockery of his habit of walking between his house and the school. With only a half mile distance between them, it seems ridiculous to drive his car unless there is inclement weather.

Meg only shrugs. “Suit yourself. See you in the morning,” she retorts. She closes the car door and starts the car, the low grumble of the exhaust filling the parking lot, before putting down the window. “No crazy parties tonight, Clarence. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she sniggers, shifting the car into gear and exiting the parking lot at a much quicker pace than Castiel feels is appropriate.

Castiel squints after her, head tilted slightly, trying to recall the last time he was at a crazy party. Why would she say that? She knows that he doesn’t party anymore, not since the night he almost died thirteen years ago. Flicking the rubber band repetitively, Castiel starts down the road toward his house.

Castiel likes his neighborhood. After Chicago, he enjoys the small town feel of North Lawrence, his tiny suburb on the northeast corner of the sixth largest city in Kansas. As he strolls down the residential street a variety of his neighbors greet him, a few wishing him a successful first day of school. Castiel has traveled this sidewalk twice each day for the majority of the past four years unless the weather was truly vicious. He typically uses the ten minute walk as an opportunity to reflect on his day, but today he is having a hard time focusing.

Castiel has always been uncomfortable with change. Although the first day of school represents new opportunities for him, it also requires an enormous amount of adjustment. He knows from experience that he will be out of sorts until he settles into the routine. It took months for him to become comfortable when he first moved into the neighborhood.

While Castiel knows most of his neighbors by sight, he doesn’t in fact _know_ them. He’s friendly enough when he’s jogging or walking his dog, but he tends to be reticent and keeps to himself. When his house, a spacious contemporary ranch that was a gift from his mother, was built on the property of a house that burnt down several decades ago, the neighbors were curious. They visited bearing welcome casseroles and pies and marveled over the luxurious interior design Hester Novak insisted on.

At first, Castiel was uneasy, both with the attention and by living in a house that looked more like a magazine spread than a home. That changed when Mrs. Darrow, who lives in the charming Cape Cod style house across the street, complimented a lamp in the great room. Castiel loathed the lamp, as he detested most of the furniture and accessories in the house. The place was cold and sterile, all sleek lines and bland colors that didn’t suit Castiel at all.

Rather than simply respond with thanks, Castiel offered the lamp to the elderly black woman. At first, she was reluctant to take it; until Castiel relayed a story about how the lamp belonged to an ex-lover with whom he had parted ways. He hated lying, but he convinced the woman she would be doing him a favor by taking it. Over the next few weeks, the majority of the house’s decorations and even some furniture were gifted to his neighbors or taken to Goodwill and slowly replaced with homier items that made Castiel feel more at ease.

Next, Castiel started replacing the manicured formal landscaping with a chaotic cottage garden filled with any kind of flower or accessory that caught his eye. The riot of colors and wild menagerie of stone, glass, and metal creatures made Castiel very happy. The transformation was finally completed this summer when Castiel finished the backyard by adding a pond and beehives. Now, when Castiel sits on the back patio with his tea, he feels peaceful rather than boxed in. After all, it isn’t as if the matriarch of the Novak family will be visiting him in Lawrence anyway. He is expected to return home to Pontiac, Illinois on the appropriate holidays and special occasions instead.

Walking up his driveway, Castiel takes a moment to pinch the spent blooms from the pink rose mallow he planted around the mailbox. He can already hear Juliet, his energetic Boxer, barking frantically from inside the house, having glimpsed Castiel through the tall windows at the front of the house. Juliet is only two, still a puppy though Castiel suspects her energy will last far past her puppyhood.

Castiel pushes through the front door, barely keeping himself from being knocked back against the wall by Juliet’s exuberance. "Okay, okay," he laughs, hanging his coat on the hooks inside the door before following Juliet through the great room to the kitchen. Now that he’s made the house more inviting, he can appreciate the open floor plan. The large windows that take up the entire back wall of the house, allowing natural light to flood that side of the house, are his favorite feature. They look out on his gardens, allowing him to watch the wildlife while having his morning tea or doing yoga in the room he converted into a studio.

Opening the back door, Castiel allows Juliet to escape into the fenced yard with another round of raucous barking. Although Juliet can come and go as she pleases through the dog door Castiel had installed when he brought the puppy home, she takes the opportunity to harass the neighbors through the slats in the tall fence. Castiel didn’t want to confine the dog to the house, given his long days at the school, so the threshold through the back wall of the dining room was the only option.

Castiel leaves the patio door open even though the evening is unseasonably cool for late August. Pulling the refrigerator door open, he contemplates his options. Yogurt, eggs, fresh broccoli, an apple, and leftover take-out chicken stir-fry. Opting for the stir-fry, he dumps it onto a plate and slides it into the microwave.

There are days when Castiel hates his complete ineptitude with cooking. He would like to be able to create exquisite meals made of fresh, healthy ingredients. After an unfortunate situation with a frying pan shot flames over a foot into the air, though, he gave up trying. Instead, he lives on a whole foods diet he supplements with take-out and things that are easily microwaved. The only things he makes on the stove anymore are omelets and he can’t even remember the last time anyone but Meg turned the oven on.

By the time the microwave beeps, Juliet has returned from outside. Castiel closes the door and refills her water and food dishes before taking his plate into his studio. It’s the one room in the house where Juliet isn’t allowed, and she whines when Castiel shuts the double doors behind him. Picking dog hair out of his paints quickly became more trouble than it was worth just to give the dog the run of the house.

Castiel puts the plate on the table next to the large sliding glass doors before walking over to study the painting on the easel by the window. He’s missed the early afternoon sun, which is his favorite to paint by, and he won’t get another chance to work on it until the weekend. Either way, the likeness of his backyard in full bloom is almost finished anyway. A few more highlights and shadows to bring depth to the garden and its sole inhabitant and it will be ready for the space he’s saved for it upstairs in his bedroom.

Returning to the table, he begins to eat, casually flipping through the sketchbook he left there in the morning. Every page is filled with fantastical images; angels in flight carrying gleaming swords, beasts out of nightmares being slain by goddesses in flowing robes, and in each picture a little dark haired boy. Every painting and sketch Castiel has done in the last twenty-odd years has the child in some form or another. A professor, intrigued by this repeating theme, tried to convince Castiel the boy is him as a youth, but though he never sees the boy’s face, Castiel knows it is not him.

The boy comes to him in his dreams as well, and Castiel has meditated on the image, trying to gain some insight into why the boy has been appearing to him. Castiel began adding the child to his drawings when he was a teenager, but the youngster didn’t start appearing in his dreams until he moved to Lawrence. No matter what the boy is doing, it is only his back Castiel sees, never catching even a glimpse of the child’s profile. His hair is fine and silky, a dark mahogany brown, very similar to the shade of Castiel’s own hair. Where Castiel’s hair is choppy and unruly, sticking up in every direction despite his attempts to tame it, the boy’s hair lies close to his head, soft waves ending in small curls against the back of his neck. By his size, Castiel guesses he can be no more than five or six years old. He’s thin but not scrawny and seems to possess a strength that belies his youth.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts of the boy, Castiel walks over to the computerized media system installed along one wall and skims through the menus. Classic Stone Temple Pilots fills the room before Castiel toes off his shoes and leaves them by the door. He pads through the large bathroom into the walk-in-closet where he keeps his casual clothing. Tossing his work clothes into the hamper, Castiel slips into a soft, loose pair of hemp pants. Going barefoot and shirtless, he returns to the other room as _And So I Know_ fades into _Creep_.

Castiel stops at the small altar attached to the long back wall to light a stick of jasmine and sandalwood incense. He steps over to the mat in the center of the room and closes his eyes. He breathes deeply as the sweet smoke winds through the room, centering himself. Sinking smoothly down into butterfly pose, Castiel lets the music wash over him as he steadies his breathing.

 _Creep_ surges into _Vasoline_ , the incense and the guitars combining to remind him of strobe lights, pounding bass lines, a crush of bodies, and the distinctive smell of pot smoke in the air. Doing yoga to '90s alt-grunge isn’t exactly conventional, but very little about Castiel is. This is the only time he willingly lets himself go back there; to the highs of meeting Michael and falling in love and to the lows of losing Michael and his near-brush with death from alcohol poisoning. He leans forward, letting his spine lengthen, as he pushes up into downward facing dog, then flows through rolling vinyasa and back again several times.

As he moves between poses, he lets himself float forward through almost eight years of loneliness, and then there is Raphael, a bright light healing Castiel’s heart like his namesake, soothing Castiel’s fears. Then there is the pain of losing him when he wouldn’t follow Castiel’s dream to Lawrence. Castiel ends in child’s pose, his body doubled over itself on the floor. He doesn’t let himself slip forward in time to Malachi, his polished exterior everything Castiel thought he wanted, but which was hiding a malicious interior. Instead, he pushes his breath out through his mouth and clears his mind. He rolls into reclined twist, stretching through his back and out his fingertips, before settling into savasana on his back.

Letting the music, now an acoustic version of _Plush_ , and the incense weave through him, Castiel lays perfectly still. The slight rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life. He knows from experience it would be too easy to fall asleep right where he lay. Instead, he rolls over and pushes himself to his feet, allowing his body to bend at the waist, clasping his hands behind his ankles and pressing his face to his shins for a few beats before rolling back to a standing position.

As usual after his evening routine, Castiel feels centered and calm. Even the journey through the memories of his past failures leaves him feeling serene rather than shattered. He’s learning, every day, to let go of the past and live in the present. Accepting the decisions he made that led to his current loneliness is just one part of the process.

Castiel walks back to the altar and wets his fingers in the small bowl of salt water. He pinches the end of the incense, snuffing it out, while murmuring softly, “I know the Laws of Nature are you, Lady. Your will through mine, so mote it be.” The simple prayer, a shortened version of one he learned several years ago, comforts him just as much as the yoga did.

Castiel punches the power button on the media system and opens the double doors into the studio. Juliet is still lying just outside the doors, her head between her paws dejectedly. She perks up when she sees Castiel, rising to greet him by licking a stripe up the back of his hand. Castiel laughs and pulls the doors closed behind him. “Let’s head up,” he says with a yawn.

Juliet follows him upstairs. The space was marketed as a bonus room, where the studio was intended to be the master bedroom suite, but Castiel couldn’t get comfortable with sleeping so close to the sliding glass doors. Instead, he moved his bedroom to the top of the stairs, where he could look out over the gardens from the writing desk he positioned just under the cluster of windows. Although he doesn’t have a cable or satellite subscription, Castiel splurged on a large flat screen television with a state of the art entertainment system viewable from the small sitting area or the bed. His collection of DVDs is arranged on a bookshelf next to the television and between those and Netflix, he doesn’t miss cable at all.

Castiel thinks about putting a movie on, but he knows he’ll need to get to the school early tomorrow to handle any last minute crises, so he strips down to his boxers and slides beneath the sheets. Juliet waits a few moments for him to get comfortable before jumping onto the bed and curling up beside him. As Castiel listens to Juliet’s breathing slow into a steady snore, he reminds himself of the same thing he does every night, “It is better to have the life you want and be alone, than to be surrounded by others and living a lie.”

Castiel sighs, rolling over and pressing his face to the soft hide on Juliet’s flank. Why is it too much to ask for to have both the life and the love?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still getting a feel for alternating POV, so let me know if it works or it doesn't.
> 
> Chapter warnings: None

All of Dean’s preparations for the last few weeks pay off. Ben eats his breakfast and gets in the car without an issue. At the school, they talk through how the day will go again before Dean walks him up to a small group of women, one of whom is holding a sign reading _Miss Blake_.

Dean kneels on the pavement in front of him. “Have a good day, buddy. I’ll be here at three to pick you up. You’re gonna have so much fun.” Dean takes Benson and tucks him gently into Ben’s backpack. He tries to push down the queasy feeling in his stomach and presses his lips to Ben’s hair, the soft waves tickling his nose. He feels tears prickle behind his eyes and tells himself it is just normal first-day-of-kindergarten emotion.

Ben smiles, the apples of his cheeks a little red due to the slight chill in the early morning air. “I’m gonna learn about planets and stars and constellations, and color, and play with kids, and eat snack, and learn ABCs and numbers, and it’s going to be a lot of fun.” This has been his litany for the last three weeks; anytime Dean mentioned school.

''That's right, buddy, a bunch of fun." He gives Ben one last hug, and if he holds on a beat longer than he should, the crying mothers around him certainly don’t notice. Dean does notice there are very few fathers taking part in this rite of passage and it makes him feel even more alone. Lisa should be here to see her son start his first day of school, Dean thinks with a pang in his chest. He adds it to the catalog of firsts Lisa should have gotten to see that he keeps in his head, firsts that damn drunk driver took away from her. He watches as one of the women takes his son by the hand and leads him into the building. He waits until he can’t see them anymore, until he can’t see Benson curled up in the bottom of Ben’s clear backpack, before turning away. The quiet sniffles of the other parents are beginning to suffocate him.

On his way back to the car, Dean keeps up his own mantra about how Ben will be fine. Ellen and Missouri both assured Dean that it’s normal to feel anxious and out of sorts about Ben starting school. Ellen had the whole bar in stitches with stories about her children’s escapades in kindergarten, including the time Jo tried to liberate the class hamster by sneaking him home in her backpack. Jo swatted her mother with a dish towel but laughed along.

Dean slides into the driver’s seat and lets the rumble of her big V8 soothe him. He was worried when Ben was little that the loud exhaust would upset him, but the Impala never fails to calm Ben just as it does his father. There have been nights when Ben couldn’t settle, especially after Lisa died, that a trip around the block in the backseat of the car put him right to sleep. Sometimes Dean thinks the backseat holds some kind of magic from all the times he and Sammy fell asleep back there as John dragged them around the country.

Dean jumps on route 40, heading north past the Roadhouse. It’s the quickest way out of town and the open road is what Dean is craving. Once he turns onto route 24 and passes the airport, it’s nothing but yellowing fields and two-lane blacktop in front of him. Dean pushes _Led Zeppelin II_ into the cassette player and it picks up on _Ramble On_ , his favorite song, so he cranks the volume up. The Impala responds immediately when he shoves his foot down, lunging forward with a growl. Dean and John replaced the original 327 four-barrel with a 502 big block a few years ago, and it was definitely worth the time and money.

With nothing in front of or behind him and years of firsthand knowledge of where the cops sit, Dean continues to press down on the gas. The car gains speed quickly and the heavy feeling Dean has had in his chest all day starts to lessen as he eases the car toward triple digits. He feels the upgraded suspension settle under him before he’s slamming through a series of rolling curves, the back wheels sliding a little. He lets out a loud whoop, feeling better than he has in months. “Aww, Baby, we need to do this more often,” he says, stroking the dash lovingly and she purrs under him.

Dean eases out of the gas and sets a slightly more sedate cruising speed. The late August cold spell keeps him from putting the windows down but doesn’t care. He continues to head north, toward Leavenworth State Park, before swinging down through Tonganoxie. He has just under four hours to get to Benny’s shop for lunch and he’s planning to make the best of it with lots of miles under Baby’s wheels.

Zeppelin is replaced by Thin Lizzy’s _Jailbreak_ , and then Black Sabbath’s _Paranoid_. Before long, Dean is stopping for gas in Eudora before continuing to head south to Baldwin City. It’s been months, no, over a year since Dean has had a day to himself to just drive. Every now and then, he glances over at the passenger seat, almost expecting to see Sam or Ash sitting there. The empty seat gives him a little bit of a pause. Sam is happily settled into married life and career, and Ash is living it up in San Francisco. Yet, Dean is still here, in Lawrence, surrounded by family but feeling more alone than he ever has.

He pushes the mood away. He has Ben and that’s all that really matters. Since Ben likes the car so much, Dean resolves to start taking a short drive with him every weekend, just to have the road under them. Before things got sketchy with his dad, before changing schools constantly and taking off in the middle of the night, riding in the Impala with John and Sammy was one of Dean’s favorite things. He can give that to Ben without any of the strain that came later.

He still has almost two hours to spare by the time he reaches Baldwin City, so Dean heads up toward Lake Clinton. The temperature has risen enough that he is able to put down the windows as he cruises around the lake, Metallica's black album blaring. Dean, Bobby, John, and Sam took Ben fishing at the lake over the summer. The men fished and bullshitted while Ben played in the water and complained about the heat. John laughed over Ben’s complaints, which was a huge improvement over how he reacted to Sam and Dean's whining when they were kids. Eight years of sobriety has changed a lot about John Winchester.

It is just past noon when Dean pulls up in front of Lafitte Customs and Repair. When Benny first showed up at Lawrence High at the beginning of their senior year, he fit right into Dean's little circle of misfits. A childhood spent in Carencro, Louisiana left him with a thick Cajun accent and a bad attitude, both of which he brought to Lawrence when his mom moved after his parent's divorce. The first day of school he parked his sleek black sport bike next to the Impala and cocked an eyebrow at Charlie, who was staring from where she and Dean were sitting on the wall next the parking lot. "See sometin' you like, cher?" he asked. Dean slapped Charlie, who came out as a lesbian in seventh grade, on the back with a laugh and shook Benny's hand. The rest, as they say, is history and it’s hard sometimes to remember a time before he knew Benny.

Dean pushes through the big glass doors at the front of the shop. The warehouse that houses Benny’s business is littered with more than a dozen motorcycles, ranging from sleek racing machines to custom cruisers. Benny is crouched down next to a gleaming blue sport bike, fitting a piece of the fairing back into place. A young brunette woman stands next to him. She's wearing leathers and holding a helmet, so Dean assumes the bike belongs to her.

Dean hangs back, but Benny notices him and calls out, "Be right with you, brother." Once Benny straightens up, he murmurs something to the girl that Dean can't make out, but it sounds like a smattering of English mixed with French. The young woman hugs Benny then pulls on the helmet before slipping on leather gloves. Dean can't help but appreciate the way her leathers hug her ass as she swings a leg over the bike. She fires it and rides out of the shop through the garage door at the back.

Benny follows Dean’s gaze where it lingers on the girl as she waits for a break in traffic and he barks out a short laugh. “One of the perks of the job,” he says, throwing his arms around Dean. Although Dean has a few inches on Benny’s 5’11”, the other man has at least thirty pounds on Dean and it’s like being hugged by a bear. He stumbles a little when Benny releases him to slap a hand down on his back.

“She seems tiny to be riding that thing,” Dean observes as he watches Benny lock up the shop.

Pulling the big glass doors shut and locking them, Benny lets out another laugh. “Don’t let her hear that, chief, she’ll skin you alive. She placed in the top twenty on the AMA SuperSport circuit last year. Girl’s got balls of steel.” Dean considers that. He probably shouldn’t find it as hot as he does, so he puts the thought out of his head and follows Benny to the diner a few doors down.

The two men choose a booth at the back. While they’re waiting for their order, Dean asks, “How are Andrea and the kids?” It was love at first sight for Benny and Andrea in high school. They got married right after graduation and Andrea was pregnant with their fourth child.

“Dre’s big as a house, but if you tell her I said it, I’ll deny it, for sure,” Benny chuckles. “Belle’s a demon on a dirt bike, movin’ up to the 12-16 group this year. Goin’ be the first girl motocross champion, dat one. Charlotte’s a princess, all pink frilly dresses an’ such, Belle’s always goin’ on ‘bout how she and Char can’t really be sisters. An’ it’s all the beb can do to keep up after dem two.” The recitation is accompanied by pictures on his cell phone of all three of his daughters. Dean knows most of that and has seen the pictures, as Benny texts them to him constantly, but he knows Benny loves talking about his girls, so Dean lets him continue.

When the waitress drops off their sodas on the table, Dean picks his up and raises it as a toast. “Dude, here’s to hopin’ the bun in the oven is a boy. You’re overrun by chicks.”

Benny toasts to that and the conversation turns to other news, both old and new. Though they text regularly, Dean and Benny haven’t seen each other in months. They swap funny stories about the garages and the kids, pausing only long enough to devour the huge hamburgers the waitress brings them. Wiping some ketchup from his face, Benny offers, “Dre got an invite to Cassie Robinson’s wedding next month.”

Dean doesn’t say anything for a moment. He hasn’t thought about Cassie Robinson in over fifteen years. She and Dean dated during junior and senior year. Cassie and Andrea were best friends then, so it wasn’t hard to slip into double dates and talking about the future.

Of course, that future ended when Cassie went away to college in Indiana. They talked about trying to make a go of a long distance relationship, but they both knew it wasn’t going to work. It was telling that when September rolled around and Dean’s circle of friends was split up by college acceptances all over the country, it was Ash that Dean missed more than Cassie. Sometimes Dean thinks Cassie knew all along it would be that way.

“Huh,” he replies, as Benny is waiting for some kind of response. “Good for her. She was always talking about settling down and having kids. Kind of surprised she waited this long.”

Benny nods, reading between the lines of what Dean isn’t saying; that the settling down and having kids thing was a big part of why he and Cassie never tried to hold on after graduation. Benny pushes his empty plate away and opens his mouth to answer, but Dean’s phone starts to blare _Smoke on the Water_. Glancing down at the screen, Dean swears, “Shit, its Ben’s school. I gotta get this.” He thumbs the screen and puts the phone to his ear with foreboding.

“Is this Mr. Winchester?” a soft but matter-of-fact woman’s voice asks.

“It is.”

“Ben Winchester’s father?” she confirms further.

Dean’s heart constricts, causing a pain in his chest. “Yeah, is something wrong?”

“This is Mrs. Johnson, the principal at your son’s school. He’s fine, Mr. Winchester,” she assures, but the pause before she continues tells Dean that the situation is anything but fine. “Ben had some difficulty in his class today. He became upset when he was asked to stop an activity before he was ready, but he’s calm now.”

Dean starts to respond, to tell her he was afraid something like this would happen or to make excuses for Ben, but she interrupts, “He’s okay, Mrs. Winchester, but Ms. Mills, the guidance counselor, and I were wondering if you could come in a little early before dismissal to talk about the problems Ben had today.”

Dean wants to contradict her, to say there is a difference between _problems_ and having one issue in class, but he doesn’t really want to do this over the phone. “I’m in the city. I can be there in about twenty, thirty minutes with traffic,” he says instead.

“That’s fine. Just come into the office. We’ll talk more when you get here,” and then there is a soft click as she hangs up.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean swears, cramming the phone into his pocket. He looks around for the waitress to ask for the bill, but Benny waves him out of the booth.

“I got your tab, brother, just let me know what’s the what, you hear?”

“I’ll text you tonight,” Dean responds, dashing from the diner.

* * *

* * *

The first day of school is always busy. In addition to their returning caseload of fourteen students, Meg and Castiel also have three new kindergarteners. Ten of the youngsters are in Castiel’s classroom all day, while the other seven are mainstreamed into regular education classrooms. One of the things Castiel loves about Woodlawn Primary is that it only goes up to third grade. The small size allows him to follow all of his students throughout their four years at the school before they transfer to the larger Lincoln Elementary/Middle School across town.

This day has been no different than any other first day of school. There were missed buses to reroute, jittery parents to soothe, tears to dry, and tantrums to head off, and that was only in the morning. Castiel has been enjoying getting to know the new students in the classroom while Meg has been making her rounds of the regular education rooms to check on their other charges. He’s snapped the rubber band on his wrist, yellow for Wednesday, more times than he remembers, but he kept his promise to Meg and it hasn’t left a mark.

Becky has the students, seven boys and three girls, gathered on the carpet to listen to a sing-along book-on-cassette about Pete the Cat and his school shoes. Castiel sits down at his desk for what feels like the first time all day to start filling out the school-to-home reports for the parents when the walkie-talkie on his belt squawks.

Castiel steps to the back of the room, away from the students. “What is it, Meg?”

“Can you go to Sarah Blake’s room? Got a boy under her desk and he won’t come out. Kid’s been having problems all day and Sarah’s been handling it, but she hit a wall with this. I think this one is going to take your touch, Clarence,” comes Meg’s scratchy, disembodied voice.

“I’m on my way there now,” Castiel responds when Becky waves him from the room, indicating she can handle the students. “Can you come back and do the home reports? I haven’t even started them yet. Becky is doing well, but I would feel better if one of us was in the room with her.”

Castiel walks briskly past the office and down the kindergarten wing toward Miss Blake’s classroom. He doesn’t know her well, but has a friendly professional relationship with her. He taps lightly on the door and enters when she waves him in. The slender dark haired woman is reading the class a picture book about Spider’s first day of school. She motions with her head toward her desk at the back of the room without pausing.

The classroom aide, an elderly woman in a dark purple track suit, is sitting just to the side of the desk. Castiel presumes Mrs. Niles is keeping an eye on the boy who is still under the desk without crowding him. He’s grateful the staff of their small school have all been well trained. She motions him to the side and whispers so neither the boy under the desk nor the other students can hear her words. “He’s been having a rough go of it, Mr. Novak. He seems like a bright kid, but he was really quiet all day. We had some trouble getting him to let loose of the stuffed dog he brought in his pack, so Miss Blake finally let him keep it in his desk. She figured we’d deal with that later.”

When she pauses, Castiel nods in encouragement. The staff knows he likes to have as much information about what led up to the current incident as possible. “When he did talk, it was all about space and planets and stars and such, even when the kids tried to talk to him about other things. He got sniffly and bullheaded a couple of times, but bless Miss Blake, she talked him through it until this last time. The kids were doing some dot-to-dot coloring sheets to pass the time during bathroom breaks, but when she called them to the carpet he wouldn’t stop. She tried to tell him he’d get a chance to finish it later, but he was having none of it. Melted right down, grabbed that dog and under her desk he went. When either of us get close, he whimpers like that puppy he’s got in a death grip. Name’s Ben, sir, Ben Winchester.”

Castiel thanks her; he has a sufficient picture of the situation now. He walks over to the science center in the back of the room, selecting a few books on astronomy before returning to the desk. Castiel folds himself down into a seated position next to the desk, being careful to keep himself out of sight of the boy. “Ben?” he asks softly. No response, but Castiel isn’t surprised. He slides one of the books in front of the opening of the desk. If Ben is looking that way, he’ll be able to see the bright picture of an asteroid belt on the front. “I heard you like astronomy. I thought you might like this book.”

Castiel waits in silence. He counts to ten in his head, then counts to ten again. He’s almost certain it isn’t going to work, so he starts to shift forward to try another tactic, but then a small pale hand reaches out and snatches the book. There is no verbal response, but Castiel can hear the pages turning. He waits a few more moments before he says, “Asteroids are similar to comets but do not have a visible coma like comets do.” The aide shoots him a confused look at the strange comment, but Castiel doesn’t look at her. His attention is one hundred percent on the boy under the desk.

He waits, counting to ten again, but he only gets to six before a small, watery voice says, “Giuseppe Piazzi discovered the first asteroid in 1801. He named it Ceres.”

Castiel wants to smile. Instead, he says, “That’s very interesting, Ben. I have another book here about the moon. Can I come in there with you and show you?”

There’s a hiccup, then a soft, “yes,” before Castiel scoots around the edge of the desk and peers into the opening. The boy is pressed against the front wall of the desk, his dark head facing away from Castiel, the book clutched in one small hand. For a moment, Castiel forgets how to breathe. This could be the boy from his paintings. His dark brown hair is styled into close cropped waves and his ears peek out just so. Castiel has seen the back of his head what feels like a thousand times. He finds that he can’t remember what he was going to say, so he reaches down and lightly snaps the band on his wrist. He’s sure Meg would agree this incident counts as an example of what she terms his ‘creepy soul stare.’

The sharp sting of the band helps him to focus. _This can’t be the boy from your drawings,_ he tells himself, _this is Ben Winchester. He’s scared and he needs your help, Castiel, pull yourself together._ Castiel holds the other book out, lightly brushing the desk beside Ben’s arm with it to get his attention. He doesn’t touch Ben, though he wants to, because he isn’t sure whether Ben likes to be touched. “I have this book, Ben,” he says, “and I have other books about astronomy in my classroom. Would you like to bring your puppy and come with me to see them?”

“Benson,” the boy mumbles, still not looking.

“Benson can come too,” Castiel agrees. He holds out his free hand, waiting for Ben to acknowledge him. Ten beats, then twenty. Halfway to thirty, Ben finally turns around, slowly slipping his tiny hand into Castiel’s. Castiel slides back, giving Ben room to exit his refuge, but continues to kneel. Once Ben is standing next to desk, he is eye level with Castiel. He turns to look at the man and Castiel is struck by the vivid green of the child’s eyes. Does the boy in the paintings have eyes the color of the moss growing around Castiel’s pond? He shakes the question away.

Castiel hands Ben the other book and, still holding Ben’s hand, he rises to his feet effortlessly. A decade of yoga and running has not only strengthened his core, it has made him extremely flexible. Mrs. Niles hands Castiel Ben’s backpack and jacket, as well as the unfinished activity sheets from his desk. He thanks her softly, and leads Ben from the room. Sarah shoots him a grateful smile from her rocking chair, as Spider realizes he’ll make friends at school after all.

* * *

* * *

Dean doesn’t exactly do the speed limit across town, but at least he doesn’t break any other traffic laws. It is just past two o’clock when he pulls up in front of the school. He parks the car in the lot and heads inside. Other than the brief orientation he and Ben attended a few weeks ago, Dean’s never been inside Woodlawn Primary. When he was in grade school, everyone went to the old Lincoln Elementary/Middle School. They didn’t split the schools until twelve years ago, making room for the growing population of the suburbs around Lawrence.

Dean presses the call-button on the front of the building and waits, hands shoved into his pockets, shifting his weight back and forth. “Can I help you?” a reedy voice asks. Dean is getting tired of disembodied voices today.

“Yeah, ah, I’ve got a meeting with the principal about my son?” Dean responds. He tries not to phrase it as a question, but he can’t keep the searching tone out of his voice.

“Come to the office, straight ahead on the left,” says the voice, and then the door clicks loudly, disengaging the magnetic locks.

Dean goes directly to the office, passing brightly colored banners welcoming the students back. A slender woman with a reddish brown pixie cut stands just inside the door, her pant-suit subtly sexy. She smiles when she sees Dean. “Mr. Winchester?”

Dean nods. “Ah, just Dean. I keep expecting to see my old man standing behind me.”

The woman smiles again, her brown eyes are warm and Dean likes her immediately. She looks like a mother and reminds him a little of Ellen. She takes his hand and gives it a firm shake. “I’m Jody Mills, the guidance counselor here at Woodlawn. Just Jody’s good for me too. Ben’s fine. I’ll walk you down to get him after we talk to Mrs. Johnson.”

Dean follows her through the door marked _Principal_ and he can’t help but chuckle at the irony. He was once a regular in the principal’s office, but he certainly didn’t expect to find himself there for his son. The woman behind the desk stands as they enter. She’s wearing a grey suit with a high-waisted pencil skirt and her hair is pulled back into an austere bun. Where the guidance counselor looks motherly, in a MILF kind of way, this woman is all business. “Hannah Johnson,” she introduces herself, shaking his hand. “Let’s have a seat at the table.”

Jody motions him to a seat at the round table in the corner of the room and she takes the chair next to him. Mrs. Johnson sits across from them. “First, I want to assure you again, Mr. Winchester—”

“Dean,” he interrupts. “Just call me Dean. I got a feeling this isn’t goin’ anywhere where calling me Mr. Winchester is gonna make me feel better.”

Mrs. Johnson does smile then and concedes with a nod, “Dean, then, I want to assure you that your son is fine. He’s not in any kind of trouble. He became upset when he was asked to stop coloring a sheet before he was finished—”

“He does that,” Dean interrupts again. “I mean, he hates to stop things in the middle. Like he’s gotta finish something before he moves on to, ah, something else,” he trails off. He runs one hand over his face, then around to grip the back of his neck. “Sorry, I’m just, well, I’m nervous I guess. Been a long time since I’ve been called to the principal’s office.” He flashes a small charming grin to cover his discomfort.

The principal’s demeanor softens slightly. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, Dean. Neither you nor your son is in trouble here. We take our student’s wellbeing very seriously here at Woodlawn. It seems your son has some difficulty with transitions. He became so distraught today that he crawled under his teacher’s desk and wouldn’t come out. One of our teachers was able to coax him out and he spent the rest of the afternoon in a smaller classroom with very good success.”

“He doesn’t like big groups,” Dean offers. “I mean, even when we’ve got the family getting together, he likes to be off doin’ his own thing.”

Jody takes over this time. “Exactly, Dean. These are the kinds of things we need to know about Ben to help him be successful here. Ben is obviously a very bright boy, but we want to see if there are any things we might need to know about him to help him learn to the best of his ability.”

Dean nods. “Okay, that doesn’t sound so bad. So why do I hear a but coming on?”

“Well,” Jody continues, “because you might be upset when we suggest you take Ben to see Dr. Barnes, a psychologist who often works with us to help determine a child’s educational and psychosocial needs.”

“A shrink?” Dean exclaims, pushing away from the table. “My son don’t need any kind of shrink poking around in his head.”

Jody and Hannah exchange a look and Jody continues to take control. “Not a shrink, Dean. Dr. Barnes isn’t a psychiatrist. She’s a clinical psychologist. She would just be doing an evaluation with Ben to see if there are any things we might need to know about the difficulties he has in class. She would put together a report of those things, like a list of the kinds of things you’ve told us so far that you know about Ben. Having the evaluation would allow us to legally offer Ben any special help he might need to make the day smoother for him.”

Dean considers this. “I’m not pumping him full of pills to make him sit still,” he bites out, folding his arms across his chest.

Jody folds her hands on the table. “Of course not, Dean, no one is asking you to. Dr. Barnes doesn’t prescribe medication, and even if medication was recommended at some point, it would be completely up to you whether you wanted to explore that option. We’re just asking for your permission to have an evaluation done. No poking or prodding, just collecting some information from you and from his teachers, as well as doing some testing with Ben to see what his cognitive abilities are.”

“Okay, that doesn’t seem so bad. We can do that. Can Ben come back to school until that’s done?”

“Of course. Dr. Barnes doesn’t have any opening until two weeks from now. We will also be observing Ben during that time. He will continue to be in Miss Blake’s class, but we will ask you to sign a paper giving us permission to move him into a small class temporarily if he becomes upset. The teachers in that room are trained to help Ben with his coping skills and they would continue to make sure he is completing all of his work even if he is out of Miss Blake’s class so he doesn’t fall behind.” Jody pulls some papers out of the folder at her elbow and passes them to Dean.

Dean sighs. God, he wishes Lisa was here. He looks down at the papers in front of him. “Yeah, okay, yeah. Whatever I need to do to help Ben, that’s what I’ll do. If you’re tellin’ me this’ll help him, then let’s do it.”

Jody shows Dean where to sign the permission to evaluate and crisis intervention plan, which will allow them to remove Ben from his regular classroom into a smaller class if needed. She then explains the envelope of papers she hands him next. “In the packet are a background history report and several rating scales on Ben’s behavior. You can get your family to help fill these out; anyone who spends a lot of time with Ben. His teachers will be filling out these papers as well.”

Dean nods. He’s blown right past overwhelmed and is beginning to approach panic attack levels. He fidgets with the gold clasp on the big envelope, then spits out. “I’m worried about him takin’ the bus tomorrow. I mean, if he had this much trouble today, I don’t think the bus’ll be good.”

Hannah answers this time. “Unfortunately, Dean, we can’t offer Ben special transportation until we see if he qualifies. This evaluation will tell us that. Until then, do you have any way to transport him?”

“Yeah, uh, yeah, I got people who could probably bring him. We’ll work it out.” The two women stand up, so Dean does too. Jody hands him a card with Dr. Barnes’ address on it and the date of an appointment in two weeks. Dean slips the card in his wallet and follows them to the door of the office.

“Ms. Mills will take you to pick up Ben. There are only ten minutes left until dismissal, so there is no reason why you can’t take him now.” Hannah shakes Dean’s hand again, this time with more feeling. “We will do right by your son, Dean. Everyone here wants what is best for him”

Dean accepts her oath with a nod and follows Jody out. They turn right out of the office, down the hallway opposite from where Dean knows Kindergarten is. He remembers that much from orientation. They stop outside a door covered in brightly colored butterflies made out of what look like coffee filters. He glances through the window in the door and he can see Ben sitting at a computer on the other side of the room.

“I’ll just go get him,” Jody says. “Wait here.”

Dean steps back to give her room to pull the door open and he watches as she crosses the room. His attention is pulled away from Ben to the man Jody is talking to. Jody says something to him that makes him look up at Dean through the window and Dean can’t look away. His eyes are the clearest, brightest blue Dean has ever seen, like the Grabber Blue of a ’69 Mustang. They’re set off by a tousled mess of dark brown hair. It looks like he’s either just rolled out of bed or has gone a round or two with one of his students, and Dean’s fingers itch to feel what it’s like to delve into that hair. Dean figures it’s long enough to offer a pretty good grip. _Yeah_ , he thinks with a shallow swallow, _that would really make it stick up all over._

He’s tall, probably only an inch or two shorter than Dean’s own 6’1”, but where Dean is bulkier muscle, this guy is slender in his khakis and long sleeved button down. His blue tie has somehow gotten turned around during the day, as Dean assumes he didn’t actually put it on backward, and Dean finds it strangely endearing. Dean’s mouth goes dry and he violently pushes away an errant thought about whether the man is as toned under the tax-accountant get-up as Dean suspects he is. _Jesus Christ, Winchester, get a fuckin’ grip on yourself_ , he reprimands.

The man is still staring right at Dean and Dean is staring right back, feeling as if he’s caught in the tractor beam of the Death Star. Except, unlike the Millennium Falcon, Dean isn’t entirely sure he wants to get away. Suddenly a tiny woman with dark curly hair is standing next to the man. She follows his gaze and glances a few times between him and Dean before she reaches down and snaps what appears to be a yellow rubber band on his wrist. It seems to bring the man back to himself and he glances down at her, then flushes and quickly looks away. Dean almost grieves for the loss.

The man turns his back on Dean and helps Jody get Ben ready to leave. Dean steps back again to let Jody and Ben out of the room. Ben’s face lights up as soon as he sees Dean and Dean will never, ever get tired of that. The blue eyed man is forgotten that quickly. He drops down to scoop Ben up in his arms, though he’s been telling Ben for months he’s getting too big to carry around. “Hey there, trouble. You have a good day?” He’s determined to be as positive about this as he can.

Ben buries his face in Dean’s neck, breathing deep a few times before he answers with a mumbled, “I got mad and went under the desk. Mr. Novak says that’s not good, but he let me look through his telescope.”

“Mr. Novak must be a good guy then. He’s right, though, about not going under the desk. Not such a good idea.” Mr. Novak, then, must be the guy with the brilliant blue eyes and sex hair.

Ben nods solemnly. “Mr. Novak says if I don’t go under the desk tomorrow, he’ll let me look at the telescope again. Benson likes looking through the telescope.”

“I’m sure he does,” Dean says with a chuckle. Jody walks them to the front doors and Dean thanks her before taking Ben to the car. He could sure use a beer at the Roadhouse, but after today, he wants nothing more than to curl up on the couch with Ben and watch Star Trek.

An hour later, Ben is a solid weight curled against him under the blankets on the couch. A half-eaten take-out pizza sits on the coffee table in front of them. He and Ben are rehashing a long-standing argument about whether The Original Series or The Next Generation is better. They both agree the rebooted movies with Zachary Quinto are pretty awesome. Mostly Ben just watches for the shots of space, but he always laughs when the Enterprise gets overrun by tribbles.

While Ben is taking his bath, Dean calls Ellen and then Missouri. He doesn’t even have to ask. Once he explains what happened at the school, Ellen volunteers herself and Jo to transport Ben between school and Missouri’s. Dean knows Ellen wants to say more, to mother hen him, but she doesn’t, which must be a sign of how stressed out Dean sounds.

Next, he calls Sam, and then John, because god knows he’ll never hear the end of it from Sam if either of them heard about it from Ellen first. They both promise to do whatever they can to help. Dean can’t help but wonder if he would have turned out differently if he’d grown up with this John Winchester, instead of the surly drunk. Sometimes it makes Dean sad that he had to wait until he was an adult to meet this version of his father, but at least Ben will never know the darker side of John.

After snack and getting Ben to bed, Dean carries the guitar back into his bedroom. Rather than putting it back on the stand, Dean takes it to the bed. He runs through the opening of The Marshal Tucker Band’s _Can’t You See_ , then sends Benny a text to let him know everything is okay with a promise to fill him in tomorrow.

Dean opens the texting app on his phone and starts to send a message to Ash, then erases it and starts again. He throws the phone down on the bed and starts strumming Skynyrd’s _Tuesday’s Gone_. It was always one of Ash’s favorite songs. He gets to the end of the second verse before the phone is ringing. He pauses only a moment before tapping accept.

He hates sometimes that he does this, that he still needs Ash. They’re over. They’ve been over for nearly seven years. But Ash is his best friend and probably the one person in the world who really knows Dean, underneath all the bullshit where he doesn’t let anyone else see, not even Sammy. So what if he and Ash still fool around sometimes, how is it any different than what they would get up to as teenagers, both before and after Dean dated Cassie? Sam says it isn’t healthy, that Dean needs to let it go, but what does he know?

“Hey, man, shitty fucking day,” Dean says by way of greeting, letting himself fall right back into their old patterns.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: description of domestic violence/assault against Cas

The microwave is beeping from somewhere behind the crowd of teachers in front of him, taunting Castiel. He just wants to warm up his tea and escape back to his classroom, but the early Friday morning rush isn’t letting up. Now that Mr. Walker, the gym teacher, took his breakfast sandwich no one is even using the microwave, but a throng of people still block his way. He looks down at the purple band on his wrist, but doesn’t snap it. He’s feeling frustrated, but not overwhelmed.

Castiel is just about to give up and down the lukewarm liquid when a bright flash of color catches his eye. He turns to see Charlie Bradbury shoving through the tangle of people. “Coming through, coming through, make way for the queen,” she bellows, her short, bright red curls bouncing. Several of the teachers give her an annoyed look, but they disperse anyway. Castiel follows in the wake of the swath she’s cut through the mob.

The color of her hair clashes with everything, so the pixyish woman makes the most of it by pairing the most garish colors and prints she can find. Today she wears a pair of lime green skinny jeans with a t-shirt emblazoned with van Gogh’s Starry Night. At first, Mrs. Johnson tried to make the eccentric librarian slash computer teacher follow the school dress code, which includes the words _no t-shirts_ and _business casual_ , but she gave up by Christmas of Charlie’s first year. It was Castiel’s second year teaching at the school and after the elderly librarian retired the year before, Castiel was just glad to have someone who actually knew how to turn on the computers in the library. He quickly learned to appreciate Charlie’s quirky sense of fashion and her even quirkier sense of humor.

“Castiel,” she exclaims, pronouncing the “t” as if it is the most important letter in his name. She snags the mug out of his hand, giggling at the images of stick figures in various yoga poses, and shoves it into the microwave. The mug was a Christmas present from Castiel’s older brother, Gabriel. Castiel gave up trying to understand Gabe’s sense of humor long ago. “Are you coming to game night tonight?”

Castiel sighs and shakes his head. Charlie asks him this every Friday even though he has never attended one of her gaming get-togethers in the four years he’s been in Lawrence. “Meg, Balthazar, and I are having dinner tonight. Meg is cooking,” he shares, knowing that it won’t stop her. The microwave beeps and he accepts his now hot beverage.

“You should bring them,” she bubbles, fiddling with the Keurig before placing her own mug beneath the spout. It has a picture of Yoda on it with the letters OOYL underneath. Castiel finds it mildly humorous. “I got the rule book for a new Firefly campaign. It’s gonna be coolio,” she finishes.

Castiel doesn’t, in fact, have any idea what she’s talking about, but he must admit that he finds the mental image of sardonic Meg or cultured Balthazar engaging in anything described as _coolio_ to be very amusing. “I’ll ask them” he promises with a grin.

Charlie takes a sip of her coffee and groans loudly in delight, much to Castiel’s chagrin. Several of the teachers still milling around in the lounge look over at her. “I saw Meg in the hallway with Ben Winchester yesterday. Is he in your class?” she asks, making an abrupt shift in topic.

Having plenty of practice following Charlie’s sudden changes in focus, Castiel just nods. “Not officially. We’re doing observation and helping out when he has problems in the classroom. They are evaluating him for services. Did you have him in class?”

Charlie shakes her head. “Sarah’s class doesn’t come in until Monday. Just wondering ‘cause I know his dad.”

Castiel is intrigued. He hasn’t been able to forget the man who picked Ben up from school on Wednesday. Although he really didn’t get a good look at him through the window, the intensity in the man’s gaze as he stared back at Castiel stuck with him. He wants to ask Charlie about him, but it seems silly to be curious about a man he glimpsed for thirty seconds from ten feet away through a door. Instead, he leaves the focus on Ben. “Oh? Have you noticed anything in Ben’s behavior that gave you cause for concern?”

“Nah,” Charlie responds. “I haven’t actually spent that much time with them lately. After Lisa, that’s Ben’s mom, died, Dean kind of closed up, you know? Went all J.D. Salinger.” She reaches into the box left on the table and grabs a donut, the sugary topping sticking to her lips. “He used to come to game night every week, but I haven’t seen him since last Halloween. I guess being a single dad really does a number on a guy’s social life.” She smacks her lips loudly around the last bite of donut before downing the rest of her coffee in one big gulp.

Castiel digests that information. He thought it odd that Ben never mentioned his mom, but he didn’t want to ask. “That’s very sad,” he responds, “for both of them. To lose a wife and mother so young—”

Charlie cuts him off, leaning back against the counter, “Lisa and Dean weren’t married. They weren’t even living together anymore.” Charlie’s usual bubbly demeanor hardens for a moment. “Damn drunk drivers. It sucks, you know? My parents were killed by a drunk driver too.”

“I’m sorry, Charlie, I didn’t know,” Castiel murmurs, starting to reach out for her before he pulls back. He’s torn between the desire to comfort her and his unease with touching her. He glances down at the band on his wrist again and wishes for a moment that he’d chosen his aversion to touch to focus on today.

She sighs, long and deep, and then the bright smile is back. “Thanks, really. It was a long time ago.” Whatever else she was going to say is cut off by the opening bell. The students will be arriving in a few minutes. She glances around the room, then quirks an eyebrow at Castiel. “Later, bitches!” she calls out, and then is gone in a blur of color.

* * *

* * *

Castiel taps an icon on the Ipad on the desk, encouraging the little blond haired girl in front of him to do the same. When she reaches out and pokes at the screen, Castiel grins and holds out a piece of an Oreo. “That’s right, Katie, cookie,” he praises. The child giggles and shoves the piece in her mouth.

There are two short tones from the walkie-talkie. “Becky, can you take over with Katie? She only has two more minutes, and then she may go on the computer.” He raises the device to his mouth. “Yes, Meg, go ahead.”

“I’m bringing Ben down. I was headed back from lunch when I heard him raising a ruckus. Kid’s got a set of lungs on him, that’s for sure.” She sounds slightly exasperated, but Castiel knows that she has nothing but patience when actually dealing with Ben.

Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose. Only three days into the school year and Ben has spent part of each day in their room. “It’s no problem, Meg. We’re just finishing manding with Katie and all of the programs have been done.”

Meg and Ben walk into the room just as Becky is settling the last student on the computers. Four of the ten children are completely non-verbal, but they all understand the intricacies of accessing the Mickey Mouse’s Clubhouse and PBS Kids websites. Although Ben isn’t crying anymore, his eyes are red and swollen. Castiel kneels in front of him. “What happened, Ben?”

There’s a long pause and Castiel isn’t sure Ben is going to answer. He can tell that Meg wants to jump in and give Castiel the details, but waits. Castiel counts to ten, and then to fifteen, and finally a watery, “It wasn’t my fault,” escapes.

Castiel nods. “What wasn’t your fault?” He glances up at Meg, who just shakes her head.

Ben clutches the little brown stuffed dog to his chest tighter. His bottom lip quivers, but he doesn’t start crying again. “I threw the crayons,” he admits, looking down at the floor, but then he rushes to defend himself, “but it wasn’t my fault. Jacob took Benson. I told him not to but he didn’t listen. Miss Masters made me pick them up, but she didn’t yell. She said I can’t look in the telescope today.”

Castiel looks up at Meg, who still stands just behind Ben, but she just shrugs. “Miss Masters is right, Ben, you can’t look in the telescope when you make poor choices.”

Ben nods, accepting his fate. He doesn’t look at Castiel or Meg, instead staring at the floor in front him. His grip on the little dog has become white-knuckled. “I understand that you were upset with Jacob, but we need use our words when we’re angry, so you can’t go on the computer either. Instead, I want you to do some work with me this afternoon, Ben,” Castiel explains. He goes to the little table in the corner by the reading center, Ben trailing gloomily behind. Meg, recognizing her dismissal, gives Castiel a salute and heads back out to the regular education classrooms.

Castiel begins by making sure Ben knows the names and sounds of all the letters. He isn’t surprised to find that Ben is very proficient. “Okay, Ben, let’s try something a little harder,” he says, laying several cards with simple word families out on the table. He is slightly more impressed when Ben calls out each word without hesitation. “That’s very good, Ben. You’re very good at this,” he praises.

Ben releases the death grip he had on Benson, setting the dog down on the table next to him, before responding, “Daddy reads my books with me every day. He says I memorized all the words, but grandma Ellen says I’m a superb reader.”

Castiel chuckles over that. “Let’s see what other words you know.” Castiel pulls out a binder labeled _Dolch High Frequency Words_ and turns to the first page. Ben reads each word without pause, going through the pre-primer list, then the primer list, then both first and second grade without a mistake. Castiel has a harder and harder time maintaining his composure, until finally Ben makes his first mistake with the word _laugh_ on the third grade list. He finishes the rest of the words with no struggle at all. Castiel assumes _laugh_ is not a word often used in books about astronomy.

Castiel is itching to pull out actual assessment materials, but he knows that Ben has been referred for a full evaluation and he doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the results. Instead, he moves on to mathematics skills, and isn’t surprised that Ben is far above a kindergarten level in manipulating numbers as well.

After Ben completes some basic double digit addition, he shares, “Numbers are nice. I like numbers that mean things. In 1986, the Challenger space shuttle exploded at the beginning of mission STS-51L. Seven crew members died. Christa McAuliffe was a teacher. She was born September 2, 1948.”

Ben lists off these facts as if he is reading them from one of his books, which he probably has. He doesn’t look up from the math problems in front of him, but Castiel notices that he is tapping his left index finger and thumb together repeatedly. Instead of drawing attention to it, Castiel comments, “You know many things about astronomy, Ben.”

Ben nods, finally looking up at Castiel before letting his gaze flit away again. “Daddy gets me lots of books and we watch movies all the time. Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship  _Enterprise_. Its continuing mission, to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.” Castiel stifles a chuckle over his recitation of the Star Trek tagline. “Daddy says I have to study real hard and do what my teachers ask so that someday I can work for NASA.”

Castiel can’t help but feel a wave of affection for a man who clearly nurtures his son’s passion. He’s grateful, for Ben’s sake, that Dean Winchester doesn’t seem to be anything like Castiel’s own father. Theodore Novak was not a man to suffer fools, or his children’s flights of fancy, lightly. As a child, Castiel wanted nothing more than to spend every waking moment making art. His mother, a talented artist in her own right, instilled her love of drawing and painting in her children, but Castiel’s father only allowed it because he believed that his children should be “well-rounded.” Castiel wonders how his life would be different if his father had nurtured his passion for art, instead of forcing Castiel to turn it into a rebellion. Ben clearly has his father’s love and support, but thanks to the heart attack that ended Theodore Novak’s life nine years ago, Castiel will never have a chance to know what that feels like.

* * *

* * *

Dean pulls the Impala up the driveway in front of the big yellow farm house. Bobby’s old green Chevelle is parked out front next to Ellen’s F150. There’s a light on in the apartment over the garage so Dean knows that Jo is home, but that’s probably not for long given that it’s a Friday night. He figures he, Benny, Sam, and Garth will see Jo at the Roadhouse by nine, as if she hadn’t just finished her shift there three hours earlier.

Dean walks around the car to let Ben out. He’s carrying Benson clutched to his chest and his sleep-over bag is over his shoulder. Dean pauses to grab his guitar out of the back seat before following Ben into the house.

Like mother, like daughter. Ellen scoops Ben up into an overzealous hug and swings him around as if she hadn’t just picked him up from school five hours ago. “I think you grew since this afternoon,” she exclaims, earning a giggle from Ben.

“Grandma Ellen, I’m exactly the same,” he responds, burying his face in her hair before he lets her put him down. He runs over and climbs into Bobby’s ancient recliner, where the older man is watching a football game. Bobby grunts a hello to Dean before turning back to the television.

“Are you sure you don’t mind watching him?” Dean feels obliged to ask no matter how often Ellen reassures him. He watches Ben snuggle deeper into the chair, wedged between Bobby and the arm. Bobby’s hand comes up to rest on Ben’s head affectionately.

Ellen swats Dean on the arm before responding, “It’s no problem, honey. You know that. He’ll be asleep before he knows you’re gone and we’ll have a nice breakfast before dropping him off at your place tomorrow.”

Dean follows her into the living room. “Come on, squirt, let’s get you tucked in,” Dean says, swinging the guitar over his back. No matter where Ben sleeps, he has to have Dean sing his bedtime songs to him. They’ve tried Dean singing them earlier in the day, Ellen singing, Dean singing without the guitar, and any number of other variations, but it never worked. It has to be Dean, with the guitar, right at bedtime. The ritual has made it hard to fit a social life in. Is Dean supposed to tell someone during a date that he needs to run home at 8:30 to sing his son to sleep?

Ben wriggles an arm around Bobby’s back, making the man grunt. “I’ll sleep here with Uncle Bobby,” he says, resting his head against Bobby’s chest. Dean has no idea how Ellen came to be grandma while Bobby is uncle when neither of them are actually related to Ben. The boy reserves grandpa for John, but Sam, Benny, and Garth are all uncle. Strangely, Ben never calls Ash anything other than just Ash. Dean has long since given up trying to figure out Ben’s reasoning.

“Yeah, right, you won’t go to sleep and Bobby’ll end up squishing you. Off to bed, and you can watch football tomorrow, bug,” Dean responds. Ben giggles and gives Bobby another squeeze. Dean scoops his son up and carries him up the stairs to Jo’s old bedroom, but not before Ellen steals one last hug.

With the routine long practiced, it doesn’t take long for Dean to get Ben settled and tucked soundly into bed. A matching space lamp swirls around on the nightstand. There’s another identical lamp in the spare bedroom at John’s trailer too. “Goodnight, trouble, I’ll see you in the morning,” Dean murmurs against Ben’s hair before turning out the light.

Ellen meets Dean at the front door and pulls him into a hug matching the one she’d given his son. “Have a good time tonight, honey. You need to get out and spend some time with the boys more often. The five of you used to close the Roadhouse down every weekend.”

 _The five of you_ , Dean repeats silently. Not five anymore. The five is now four, and Dean is the only one who hasn’t settled down. Benny and Andrea, Sam and Jess, and even Garth and his girlfriend Bess have recently started talking about tying the knot. And then there’s Dean, still carrying a torch for the only one of them that got out and is never coming back. Pathetic.

Ellen doesn’t notice the mood she’s triggered. Instead, she pushes him toward the door with a grin. “Keep an eye on Joanna Beth. I know she’ll end up back over there some time tonight, especially since she knows you boys will be there,” she says, then adds as an afterthought, “and go easy on Natalie, she’s new to manning the bar on a Friday night. She’s still getting her sea legs.” Dean rolls his eyes, earning him a slap on the back of the head. It’s not his fault that Ellen’s new bartender gets flustered every time Dean gets within five feet of her.

“We’ll make Garth go to the bar,” Dean promises with a grin before heading down the walk for the drive across town.

The Roadhouse isn’t crowded, but it’s early yet. Natalie looks up from where she’s serving drinks behind the bar and gives a small wave and a smile when Dean walks in. She’s pretty, in a nice understated way, with her light brown curls and tight blue jeans. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about hitting on her once or twice, but Ellen has a strict rule about not hooking up with the help. Ash ruined it for everyone when his indiscretions during the summer before he left for college resulted in Ellen losing three bartenders in two months.

At 6’4” and built like a moose, it’s not hard for Dean to pick out his younger brother amongst the crowd. Sam is standing at the bar holding two beers. Dean waves and Sam uses the beers to motion him to a booth along the back wall where Benny and Garth are already waiting.

Dean makes his way to the booth, sliding in beside Garth. “Hey, man, gonna need you to get me some new strings soon,” he says by way of greeting.

Garth, his thin form swimming in his too-large sweatshirt, nods with a grin. Dean sometimes envies Garth’s easy-going, unflappable manner, but only when it isn’t irritating the hell out of him. “Will do, Dean. We’ve missed you down at Supersonic.” Garth manages a music store a few blocks from the KU campus. Before Ben, Dean used to spend almost every evening hanging out in the store.

“I don’t get to play much these days, but I’ve been meaning to bring Ben down to look around the store,” he says. He realizes how much he’s been meaning to do a lot of things with Ben but never seems to get around to it.

Sam slides into the booth next to Benny, setting four beer bottles on the table. He pushes his shoulder-length brown hair behind his ears, his long legs banging into Dean’s under the table. “Get control of your sasquatch legs, Sammy,” Dean exclaims with a cheeky grin, grabbing one of the bottles and draining the first few inches. _Boy needs a damn haircut, looks like a hippy._ Although Dean doesn’t actually care about the state of Sam’s hair, he hears his father’s refrain in his head. Sometimes Dean thinks Sam keeps it long just because it seems to bother the elder Winchester so much.

Sam gives Dean a classic bitch-face, but he can only hold it for a few moments before he drops into a wide grin. “I’m glad you made it. We don’t do this enough,” he says instead of the insult Dean was expecting back.

Dean sighs. The way people are talking, you’d think he moved to the middle of the woods and became a fucking hermit. Raising a kid on his own is hard work, and it’s only gotten more difficult since Ben went to school. It’s been a hell of a week, but at least there had been no more calls from the school. “I know, man, I know. Been busy with work and Ben and shit.”

“How’d things go the rest of the week?” Benny asks, heading off the argument he sees brewing between the brothers. He’s had a lot of practice getting between them over the years.

“Good, I guess. No more calls anyway,” Dean responds. He has to admit, it is nice to have them all together like this. “We’ve got an appointment with the shrink lady the Thursday after Labor Day.”

Sam sighs. “She’s not a shrink, Dean. I looked at the papers you gave Ellen. She’s a psychologist who specializes in the diagnosis of learning and developmental disorders. Since Woodlawn is such a small school, they subcontract with her rather than having their own in-school psychologist.”

“Your lips are moving, Sammy, but all I hear is blah, blah, blah, blah,” Dean responds, then rolls his eyes when Benny kicks him in the shin. “Whatever, man, she’s gonna poke around in his noggin and figure out why he’s havin’ so much trouble at school. Just what I said.”

It’s Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Grow up, Dean. This is serious.”

Dean huffs. “You think I don’t know that? I mean, I know Ben gets upset easy over stuff, but I just figured that was because of the shit with Lisa. I don’t know what the hell to do with this. They’re talkin’ about putting him in a special class, like he’s really screwed up.” Dean downs the rest of his beer in one go then signals to the college kid Ellen hired to wait tables.

Its Garth’s turn to step in. “You’ll do fine, Dean. You’re a great father. And just because he’s in a special class doesn’t mean he’s screwed up. It just means that he needs specialized help. My cousin was in a special class when she was a kid and she graduated from Amherst last year. It’s actually a good thing if the school is willing to do whatever Ben needs.”

“Exactly, brother,” Benny adds, “and whatever they decide, you got people ready and willing to help. You know Dre and I will do whatever we can to help Ben.”

Dean accepts a round of beers from the waiter and sighs. “I know. It’s just a lot to handle. I guess I’m glad they got these people that are taking care of him. I get a paper from them every day tellin’ me how he did. He’s been to the special class every day this week, but nothin’ they called me about.”

Garth, recognizing the mood that Dean is sinking into, changes the subject by telling a story about a hipster who came into the music store. From there, the conversation flows easily, lubricated more than a little by the constant stream of beers. It’s almost ten o’clock when Jo finally saunters into the bar, heading straight to their booth.

“Move in, bucko,” she demands, shoving Dean over against Garth and plopping down in the booth.

“Jesus, Jo,” Dean complains. “Why do you gotta squeeze in on this side?”

Jo evaluates Dean and Garth and then Sam and Benny and snickers. “Really, Dean, I’m surprised those two even fit in a booth together. There’s barely room for both me and Benny’s ego over there, unless I sit on Sam’s lap.” Benny offers a weak protest while Sam flushes at Jo’s exclamation, before the booth erupts in laughter.

“What took you so long, cher?” Benny asks, laying on the accent thicker than usual in response to Jo’s taunt.

“My mother, who seems to think I’m still a teenager,” Jo says with a half-hearted snarl. She snags Dean’s beer out of his hand and downs the last few inches. “I don’t know why I bothered moving out to the garage when she still checks up on me.”

“Next round’s on you, Joanna Beth.” Dean shoots a smartass grin at the girl, and then adds, “I don’t think she trusts you. Hmmm, I wonder why? Could it have something to do with the guy with the tattoos and piercings I ran into coming down your stairs last weekend?” The other three men laugh.

“Fuck you, Winchester,” Jo snipes back. “Damien is an artist, he’s, ah, sensitive.”

Dean gives her a cheeky smirk. “Yeah, I’ve heard piercings make a lot of things, ah, sensitive. He got piercings anywhere else?”

Jo flags down the waiter for another round before turning on Dean. “You’re an asshole,” she retorts without venom, barely able to hide her smile.

The evening passes with laughter, beer, and good conversation. Dean’s almost forgotten what it feels like to laugh like this. Eventually a pizza, nachos, and hot wings appear on the table, and it isn’t long until Jo is challenging the boys to a game of darts. It comes to none of their little group’s surprise that by quarter past one, Jo and Dean are the last two standing.

Jo angles her body and flips her last dart toward the board. When it buries itself in the cork bull’s-eye with a loud thunk, Jo chortles. “Pay up, Winchester,” she jeers, chuckling as he snags a twenty out of his pocket and stuffs it down the front her shirt.

Dean accepts the good natured teasing from the guys over his loss with an overstated bow. “Gotta hit the head, order up another round with your ill-gotten gains, Joanna Beth,” Dean directs, heading toward the restrooms. As he crosses the room, he can’t help but notice the red haired woman standing at the corner of the bar. His path takes him right past her. She wears tight black skinny jeans and knee high boots. A black t-shirt emblazoned with a she-devil and the words _The Devil Made Me Do It_ is covered by a black cropped motorcycle jacket. The whole outfit hugs tight to all of her substantial curves. Her lips are plump and bright red, the kind that he can imagine wrapped around things other than that bottle. Yeah, pretty impossible not to notice, especially with the way her gaze travels up and down his body as he approaches.

Walking directly past her, Dean catches her eye and cocks one eyebrow. Just as he passes, he gives her a long slow wink. Desire coils low in his belly. Ben is with Bobby and Ellen until tomorrow and this living like a monk thing has long ago lost its novelty. No reason why he can’t have a little grown-up fun tonight.

When Dean returns from the men’s room the woman is still standing at the bar, her back to him. Dean steps up beside her and raises his hand to flag down Natalie. When she drops the beer in front of him, the woman turns, her blue eyes skipping over his face to something behind him. Dean would bet that twenty he just lost that she’s looking at Jo.

“Your girlfriend is quite the hustler,” the woman remarks, bringing her gaze back to his face. She leans against one of the tall stools, but doesn’t sit. She’s tall, only a few inches shorter than him, and lean. Dean’s hands itch to wrap around her slender waist and tug her against him, so he wraps them around his beer bottle instead.

He turns and follows her gaze to where Jo is whipping Benny in another round of darts. He sees Sam roll his eyes and he shrugs. “Not my girlfriend,” he responds, letting his eyes flit down to her lips for a moment, then back up to her eyes.

The woman pushes a few fiery strands behind her ear. “Her loss,” she says. She studies him for a moment before extending her hand. “Abby.”

“Dean,” he responds, letting her small hand linger in his grip. He can smell her perfume now. Something musky that reminds Dean of summer nights by the water, the damp earth redolent under the blanket they’d thrown down.

“So, Dean, think your friends would miss you if you decided to get out of here?” She shifts closer, one slim leg brushing against the inside of his thigh. Heat sparks across every nerve ending, settling in his cock, which has undeniably decided to join the party.

Instead of answering, Dean takes her beer bottle and sets both drinks on the counter before nodding his head towards the door of the bar. As he follows Abby across the room, he catches Jo’s eye. She shakes her head slowly, grin spreading. He gives his brother and friends a jaunty wave. Ellen is definitely right, he does need to get out more.

* * *

* * *

Castiel pushes the door open wider to allow Meg and Balthazar to enter the house. Balthazar carries two bottles of an expensive vintage of wine, which he takes directly to the bar in the great room. “I have wine, you know,” Castiel says dryly, following him to where he is already pouring two glasses. Even though he doesn’t drink, Castiel keeps several bottles on hand for his friends.

“Of course you do, Cassie, this is just my contribution to this little soiree,” Balthazar responds. After more than two decades living in the small mid-western city, Balthazar’s British accent has softened a bit, but it doesn’t stop him from acting like he’s just come from tea with the queen. He presents the glass to Meg with a flourish and slight bow.

Castiel squints at his friend, tilting his head slightly to the side, before shaking it with a sigh. “I’ve asked you not to call me that. You make me sound like a twelve-year-old girl.” He takes the grocery bags from Meg and puts them on the kitchen counter.

Balthazar grins cheekily. “When one lives like a twelve-year-old girl, one must adapt, my dear,” he reasons, settling onto the arm of the couch. Balthazar is still wearing the navy blazer he had on at school today, but the button down has been replaced by a thin V-neck t-shirt. His hair is artfully tousled, as usual. He’s carefully cultivated the image of a smug playboy, but Castiel knows that Balthazar is one of the most loyal friends he’ll ever have.

“Not everyone can be as worldly as you, Zar,” Castiel retorts, continuing to help Meg unpack the groceries before setting out the pans on the list of instructions Meg stuck to the front of the refrigerator. “Tell me, how is that nice young woman from the library? Or the one from the bank? The girl you picked up at the Italian restaurant? Or maybe the one from the Thai place downtown?”

Meg chuckles as she continues to prepare the salmon and apple-kale salad she planned for, knowing better than to get between them. Considering that Castiel is a disaster in the kitchen, he finds it fitting that his best friend can take advantage of the state-of-the-art appliances. He doesn’t remember how their monthly tradition of Meg cooking for the three of them came to be, but he cherishes these evenings.

“Women are fickle creatures, darling. Alas, they have left me. I shall have to find another,” Balthazar rejoins, swirling his wine in the bottom of the glass. “You should be glad that men aren’t as capricious.”

Castiel does laugh at that. “Fickle. Yes, I suppose that’s a word for it. Though shrewd is the one I would have chosen.” Balthazar’s conquests are as numerous and varied as fish in the sea, but he is also kind and generous. Castiel has never seen a woman that he couldn’t charm, except perhaps Meg, but that explains how they became friends. Despite Meg’s stony exterior, however, Castiel has his suspicions that Meg has succumbed to Balthazar’s charms at least once.

“If you two are done baiting each other, I could use some help chopping,” says the woman in question. She shoves the ingredients onto the central island and then turns back the stove. She spins the dial, bringing up the flame under the pan, preparing to transfer over the salmon fillets.

Balthazar rises and comes into the kitchen, dropping a quick kiss to the top of Meg’s head then quickly backing out of reach before she can slap him. “I am at your service, my love,” he teases, “you have only to direct me.”

Dinner preparation continues with laughter, sarcasm, and more wine than should probably be drank this early in the evening, but Castiel wouldn’t trade it for anything. He rubs his bare wrist absently, fingers dancing over the lotus flower tattoo there. The black ink is still as crisp as the day he got it, matching the Eye of Ra on the other wrist. Usually covered by the cuffs of his shirt, he likes being able to see and touch them. No rubber band tonight, because here, with his friends, he can relax and just be Castiel. There is nothing to work on, no way in which he needs to be different because he already has their complete acceptance.

The meal is delicious, as usual, and Castiel pretends that he doesn’t see Balthazar feeding Juliet bits under the table. The conversation slips easily from what Balthazar thinks of his new class of third graders (“Sodding little shits,” said with affection) to the college student at the dry cleaners who hit on Meg this week (“I would eat him alive,” said with a self-deprecating sigh).

Castiel appreciates that he never feels odd or self-conscious with them. He tries to remember a time before in his life when he felt this comfortable with other people and fails. Certainly not with his family; mealtimes, holidays, and vacations in the Novak house were awkward affairs, made worse once Gabriel hit his rebellious teenage years. The frustrated animosity between him and their father was never easy. Although Castiel loves his older brother, and would do anything him, he has never really felt like they understand each other.

Once the meal is over, washing and putting away the dishes doesn’t take long between the three of them, though Balthazar complains the entire time about why they can’t use the dishwasher. With just him in the house, it never seemed to make sense to Castiel to use the machine when his daily dishes are easily cleaned. Even with the pans and utensils used to make the meal, there isn’t enough for a full load.

Castiel makes himself a cup of tea and Balthazar slides the newly opened bottle of Moscato d’Asti into the ice bucket before the three friends move to the soft suede sectional in the great room. The vaulted ceilings show off the architectural beams, accented by floor-to-ceiling windows that reflect both the fireplace and the solar lights shimmering throughout the garden. Their glow makes the backyard look like a fairy wonderland. Now that it’s getting colder, Castiel will have to gather up the outside ornaments for storage in the shed during the winter but he doesn’t mind. Castiel loves every season, always looking forward to seeing how nature costumes his little sanctuary.

Balthazar sprawls in the corner of the couch, legs thrown wide with one bent up to tuck under the other. Meg relaxes back against the plush cushions, sitting close enough that her elbow is resting lightly on Balthazar’s thigh. Once Castiel is settled, Juliet curls up at his feet. This, Castiel thinks, is what friendship looks like. The conversation meanders slowly, until another bottle of wine is opened and the fire starts to burn low, before it settles on the upcoming holiday.

“I’m flying up to Ann Arbor to see Anna late Friday night. We’d be back Monday evening if you want to come,” Meg shares. “There’s still time to get you a ticket.” Anna Milton is Meg’s older sister. Her daughter, Krissy, is a big part of the reason Castiel has this life that he didn’t even know he wanted. That summer in Chicago twelve years ago set Castiel’s life on this trajectory.

The little girl Krissy had been when Meg brought her and her mother to one of Castiel’s art classes at the gallery dances through his mind. She’s not a little girl anymore. He knows because he has a picture from Christmas last year on the dresser in his bedroom. Her auburn curls are bouncing around her face in the image, as she and Castiel waltz around the tree in the Milton living room, frozen in time.

She’ll be turning eighteen in a few months, but she isn’t doing the things other eighteen year olds do. Krissy won’t be applying for college or moving into her first apartment. She won’t even be graduating from high school, since she has a right to an education until she’s twenty-one. When Krissy was two, she was diagnosed with Autism, a developmental disorder that affects her social, behavioral and language development. She doesn’t speak, but she communicates by touching the icons on a device that is very similar to the IPad Castiel uses in his classroom.

Despite this, or maybe because of it, what Krissy can do is make art. She is an amazing artist, both drawing and painting with a photorealism that Castiel can’t come close to matching. Although she was only five years old at the time, Castiel convinced the gallery owner to display some of Krissy’s work that summer. Having graduated from Northwestern with a degree in Art Theory and Practice, Castiel had been doing odd jobs and teaching classes at the gallery for two years. It only took those few short months with Krissy to convince Castiel to start offering to teach art classes for children with special needs. After a few packed sessions at the gallery, Castiel started offering lessons to the local elementary schools.

Adrift for over a year after the break-up of his first relationship, Castiel had desperately needed purpose and he’d found it in the children. He spent the next five years learning everything he could about Autism and other developmental delays, gradually expanding the offerings at the gallery, until it became well known in the art community as a haven for artists of all ages with special needs. It all changed again one day in March when Meg sat him down at her dining room table and told him that she thought he should go back to school for special education.

Three years later, he was packing his things and closing the door on yet another failed relationship to follow Meg to Lawrence, Kansas. She’d landed a job teaching Autism Support two years before and Castiel had been miserable without his best friend. Captivating, but slightly condescending, Raphael never understood why Castiel would move to what he called ‘the middle of nowhere’ when there were perfectly good teaching jobs in Chicago. He had even accused Castiel of having an affair with Meg. In the end, there was little left of the charisma that had originally attracted Castiel to him.

“As much as I would love to see them, I have plans on Sunday,” Castiel responds honestly.

“Plans? You sly dog you,” Balthazar purrs. “Do tell. Is our little Cassie going to get some?” Balthazar moves to pour himself another glass of wine and finds the bottle empty.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’m not sure that your obsession with my sex life is entirely healthy, Zar.”

“To be obsessed with your sex life, darling, you’d have to have a sex life,” Balthazar retorts. He starts to get up to retrieve another bottle, but Meg leans back against him to keep him in place.

“Enough, Zar. If you open another bottle, we’ll be sleeping here tonight,” she says with a yawn, then adds a sleepy, “Leave him alone.” Meg has slid down during the evening and is resting comfortably with her head on Balthazar’s thigh. If Balthazar occasionally runs his fingers through her hair, Castiel pretends not to notice.

“If you must know,” Castiel relates, “I’m going to a show at the Granada. Scott Weiland and the Wildabouts are playing.”

“You really should join us in the twenty-first century, Castiel. The grunge era is over,” Balthazar throws back, stretching his arms over his head. His movements cause Meg to roll more firmly onto his lap, but she doesn’t react.

“Stone Temple Pilots weren’t really grunge—” Castiel starts, but Meg cuts him off.

“He’s screwing with you, Clarence. Jesus Christ, Balthazar, do you have to get him going?” she mutters, her eyes scrunched closed.

“Alright, alright. Yes, yes, a completely different genre. At least tell me you’re planning to pick up one of those cute little emo boys for a good shag?”

“Balthazar,” Castiel warns.

“You live like a hermit, Castiel. I’m concerned about you. When was the last time you had a proper lay? Two years? Malachi was a dick but, _ooph_ —” This time Meg cuts him off with an elbow to the side, pushing herself up so that she’s sitting beside him again.

“I told you to leave him the fuck alone, Balthazar. You know better than to bring up Malachi,” she chastises, angry now.

Castiel’s gaze is immediately drawn to the spot in the hallway, long since repaired, where Malachi put his hand through the sheetrock. He looks back at Meg and sees her looking at the same spot, remembering. He’d been on the phone with Meg that evening when Malachi came home from work, angry about something that Castiel didn’t remember. But Malachi was always angry, so it wasn’t hard to forget the specifics.

Malachi hated Meg, jealous of her prominent place in Castiel’s life, and the feeling was always mutual. That evening, however, he flew into a rage when Castiel didn’t immediately hang up to coddle his shallow ego. Castiel was used to Malachi’s moods, and he thought this one was no different. Although he could be domineering and controlling at times and petulant like a child when he felt slighted, Malachi also had a generous, loving side that drew Castiel to him. During the good times he doted on Castiel, taking him to concerts and art shows, surprising him with flowers sent to the school and breakfast in bed. Although Malachi could be difficult, he had never been violent. That was something Castiel could never have stood for. Looking back, he realizes that what he did let Malachi get away with, controlling him, using sex as a weapon, and pushing his friends away, was infinitely worse in some ways.

That particular evening, the last one, Malachi knocked the phone from his hand, sending it spinning across the kitchen. Castiel didn’t know until much later, when Meg confessed through vodka soaked tears, that the call hadn’t cut off. She heard Malachi screaming at him, calling him vile names. As the Waterford vase from the table next to the door was smashing against the wall, Meg had been running to her car. She listened as they fought, heard Malachi’s curse when he put his hand through the wall, lashing out to prevent Castiel from going out the front door. Castiel wasn’t lucky enough to miss the next blow, Malachi’s fist busting his lip open, bloodying his nose and sending him reeling back against the wall.

Having a height advantage, and being evenly matched for weight and build, Castiel could have defended himself, but he was so shocked that it never occurred to him to punch back. He lost his balance when he hit the wall, collapsing into a heap on the floor. It was only a moment before Malachi was on him, screaming allegations, accusing him of sleeping with Meg, ripping at his clothes. It was like an increasingly volatile re-creation of his last fight Raphael. Castiel’s blood was smeared everywhere, wide red swaths on the tile beneath them and across both of their faces and hands.

Meg heard it all as she flew across town in her little sports car, screaming threats and promises of retribution into the phone. It was only when she was turning onto Castiel’s quiet street that she hung up long enough to call 911. It felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, and Malachi had managed to land several more blows to Castiel’s face and torso. He ripped Castiel’s shirt completely off of him and was working on his jeans when Meg flew through the front door like an avenging angel. She was breathing heavy from her sprint from the car, but her voice held nothing but command as she shouted Malachi’s name.

Castiel still isn’t sure who was more surprised, him or Malachi, when they looked up to see Meg’s tiny frame, braced in a perfect firing stance, aiming a Colt 1911 .45 at Malachi’s head. Castiel supposes that staring down the barrel of a gun is enough to bring just about anyone to their senses, because Malachi released Castiel, allowing him to roll away, and crumpled into the fetal position, sobbing. Castiel sat there in shock, staring between them, unable to answer even when Meg asked if he was okay. Of course he wasn’t okay. There was absolutely nothing okay about it.

Castiel was still sitting there when the police came through the door, his blood drying on him in crusty dark patches. Meg lowered the gun to the floor and put her arms straight up to show she was unarmed, allowing the first officer in the door to restrain her without struggling. It was a tense few minutes, but it soon became clear what had happened. The officers took statements, checked to ensure that Meg’s gun permit was in order, and took Malachi into custody for assault after offering to call an ambulance for Castiel.

Castiel refused, assuring them that he’d had black eyes, broken lips, and bloody noses before. Meg opened the bar in the great room and poured herself a generous glass of vodka. She managed to take a wet kitchen rag and cleaned most of the blood from Castiel’s face before she burst into tears. Castiel held her then, sobbing against his chest, as he murmured soothing nothings into her hair.

Meg’s hand on his shoulder brings him crashing back into the present. Her eyes are wide with unshed tears. Juliet is whining softly, her broad head butting against his leg. “I’m okay, Meg. I’m okay,” he promises shakily. Instead of answering, Meg curls up in his lap, her arms around his neck and dark head pressed against his chest.

Balthazar, at least, has the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry, Castiel. I was just, bloody hell, I don’t know. I was out of line.” Balthazar and Castiel had only been acquaintances then, but he’d seen the shadows of the bruises when Castiel returned to school after taking a week off.

Castiel pets his hand through Meg’s hair. His fierce little guardian, the best friend he’s ever had and will ever need. He nods in acceptance. “I know, Zar. It’s okay. It’s been two years, he has no power here.” Castiel had been sick over pressing charges, but Malachi pleaded guilty so Castiel didn’t have to testify. He didn’t even return the prosecutor’s phone call when she contacted him to tell him the sentence. He just wanted to put it behind him.

The mood is somber now, all thoughts of teasing gone. Meg and Balthazar came together in Balthazar’s Boxster, since they both live on the other side of the river, so Castiel walks them to the car. Castiel doesn’t know how a public school teacher affords a Porsche, but there is a lot that he doesn’t know about his friend.

The house seems amazingly quiet after they leave, as if they boxed up the life in it and took it away like leftovers. Even Juliet is quiet as they go through their evening routine. She doesn’t even whine when he shuts the door of the studio, closing her out. It was too quiet in the house after Malachi too. Just three weeks later, he and Meg drove to the shelter and picked Juliet out of a litter of puppies that had been abandoned by the highway.

Needing something a little more visceral tonight, he opts for Alice in Chains’ _Dirt_ for his evening yoga ritual. He doesn’t let his mind wander through memories like he usually does, his emotions feeling like a raw nerve ending. He’s experienced enough trips into his past this evening. He practices mindfulness instead, trying to focus on the physical experience of his body moving through the motions.

Once he’s done, he still feels unsettled and tense. So instead of pinching out the incense, he walks to his easel. The finished backyard landscape is hanging beside the closet door in his bedroom upstairs, a blank canvas waiting on the easel instead. Castiel pulls out his sketch book and flips through the pictures, but he already knows what he’s going to paint. He sets the book aside and prepares his palette.

Building the image slowly, he coaxes the colors into the contours he wants. It’s slow and painstaking to shift and blend the paints this way, and he has to stop to stretch and change the album twice before he’s satisfied with his work. The beginning shapes and shadows of an ancient magical forest are awakening on the canvas. The ghostly silhouette of an evil witch searches the trees for her prize, not realizing that the boy she seeks is crouched under a stump at her feet.

Castiel steps back and studies the painting. The dark haired boy is there, as he always is, tucked in under the gnarl of wood, but it isn’t the back of his head that Castiel has painted. The boy is facing outward, his plump cheeks and little bow mouth clearly visible. Castiel backs away, snuffing out the incense and offering up a prayer. As he leaves the room, he doesn’t acknowledge, even to himself, that the boy’s sharp green eyes watching him from the painting belong to Benjamin Winchester.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys meet soon, I promise. Just one more chapter!

Although it feels weird to be behind the wheel of his car after so long, Castiel still loves it. His 1987 Camaro IROC-Z isn’t the most practical car for Kansas winters, but he’s never felt the need to buy something more sensible. Since he usually walks the half mile to the school, the only time he ever takes the car out is when he goes into the city anyway.

When his father sent him money to purchase a vehicle while he was away at Northwestern, it gave Castiel a sick sort of pleasure to buy a car he knew his father would hate. He put the extra seven thousand dollars into a savings account for the inevitable fall out when his father found out that he changed his major from Chemical Engineering to Art Theory. Thanks to his mother’s love of both art and her son, Theodore Novak didn’t discover Castiel’s rebellion until it was too late to do anything about it. The money eventually allowed Castiel to work reduced hours at the gallery while getting his Master’s degree, although his father didn’t live long enough to be bothered by it.

Castiel pushes through the doors of the club. He flashes his license to the bouncer, but Rick doesn’t even glance at it. Castiel has been a regular at the Granada since moving to Lawrence. A local band is playing when he steps up to the bar. They have a sort of indie pop sound that isn’t horrible but isn’t really Castiel’s preference. The band Castiel is there to see won’t start their set until nine-thirty, but Castiel likes to arrive early.

Violet, the willowy black haired bartender who always dresses like a gypsy, waves to him from the other end of the room. He waves back, taking a seat on one of the barstools at the corner of the U-shaped bar. Before long, Violet slides a mug of tea onto the counter in front of him. It was a curiosity to the bartenders when Castiel started coming to the club that he doesn’t drink. Once he explained that he enjoys the music and the crowds, but is a recovering alcoholic, the staff went out of their way to ensure that there are always herbal teabags stocked behind the bar.

“We’ve missed you, Castiel. There’s been some good shows the past couple weeks so we were surprised you didn’t show,” she says, adding a slice of fresh lemon to the top of the mug.

Castiel takes a sip and smiles. Honey in the tea, not sugar. Just the way he likes it. “The beginning of the school year is always hectic. Now that things have settled down, I should be able to get out more. I saw on the schedule there are several shows coming up I’d like to see.”

It isn’t long before Violet is called away by other customers, leaving Castiel to turn and watch the other patrons. The throngs of people are so familiar that Castiel almost expects Michael to walk through the crowd, his dark hair messy above startling silver eyes and a familiar grin lighting his handsome face, arms dark with tattoos. Castiel’s heart tightens, for just a moment. His vision is replaced by the look of anguish marring Michael’s expression the night they broke up. Castiel was so scared, too scared to trade his hard-won independence from his family for what he saw as another kind of cage with Michael.

Instead of embracing Michael when he asked Castiel to move in with him, Castiel panicked. Not expecting that reaction, Michael was full of hurt and confusion. Looking back, Castiel knows he should have asked Michael to wait, to give him time to become comfortable with the idea. He should have explained what he was thinking and feeling, how the offer of a key and commitment reminded him of the expectations leveled by his father. Instead, he ran; ran from Michael and all of their happiness.

A spiral of depression and partying followed, until the night a month later when he woke in a hospital bed hooked up to monitors with an IV in his arm and a tube down his throat. Meg sat beside the bed, looking even tinier than usual in a pair of black tights and a baggy sweater, pale and drained. When she saw he was awake, she crawled onto the bed with him and curled against his chest. With a voice that trembled, she explained how the hospital had called because she was listed as his emergency contact in his phone. A customer at the club where he’d been partying found him passed out in the hallway to the bathroom and called 911. The ER doctor had already diagnosed alcohol poisoning and started treatment by the time Meg arrived. She explained, voice thick with unshed tears, that he’d started having convulsions shortly after the ambulance arrived. The nurse had told her that if he hadn’t been found when he had, he would likely have died or had lasting brain damage. The last drink before he passed out, one he doesn’t even remember, is the last one he’s ever had.

“Those are some deep thoughts, friend,” a voice near his ear startles him out of his memories. It’s deep with a smooth drawl. Castiel turns to look at the man who is perched on the bar stool next to him. Dirty blond hair is cut short, military-style, and his pale blue eyes seem to look right through Castiel. He’s handsome and his shoulders are broad under the white button down he wears with the top few buttons undone.

Castiel swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “I, ah, memories,” he says, “just memories.”

The man nods as if Castiel’s words actually make sense. “Well, you’re here tonight in the present. Good music and,” he motions toward himself, “good company.”

“Oh, well, I just—” Castiel can’t seem to find the words he’s looking for, isn’t actually sure what they even are. He’s sure the good-looking man sitting next to him can hear his heart beating erratically. His hand tightens convulsively on his tea mug.

Seeing the panic on Castiel’s face, the man leans back. “Look, man, I’m sorry if I read you wrong; if this isn’t something you’d be interested in,” he says, starting to get up.

Castiel reaches out as if to stop him, then pulls back before actually touching his arm. “No, I mean, it’s not that I wouldn’t be interested, I mean, normally,” he stutters, still unable to find words to convey his meaning.

Confusion flits across the man’s face and then understanding swiftly follows. He sits back down, angling his body toward Castiel. “Let’s start over,” he says, smile back in place. “I’m Jacob.”

 “Castiel,” he offers, waiting for the inevitable baffled response to his name.

“Huh, nice, unique,” Jacob says. “Certainly not something I’ll forget.”

“I think that’s the nicest response I’ve ever heard to my name,” Castiel responds with a small laugh. Now that the initial panic at the man’s interest has died down, he’s finding that he actually enjoys the attention.

Jacob glances at Castiel’s tea mug. “You’re not drinking? How am I supposed to hit on you by buying you a cup of tea?” he asks with a laugh. While the words could seem derisive, the low chuckle and boyish grin show that he’s joking.

Castiel smiles. “Well, you are certainly welcome to buy me another cup of tea, but I can’t promise it will get you anywhere.”

“So you’re involved? Or just not interested?”

“Not involved, and I wouldn’t say I’m not interested. I’m just not one for hookups or one-night stands.” Castiel wonders if his honesty will put the man off.

Jacob chuckles again, and motions for Violet. “Hmmm, let’s get another round and see how the night goes before we make any decisions.”

Castiel finds that despite his initial apprehension, he has quite a good time talking with Jacob. They like the same kinds of music, share a love of world cuisine, and both harbor a dislike for romantic comedies and blind dates. Castiel discovers that Jacob is a financial planner who grew up in Lawrence, but went to college in Florida before returning to the Midwest. When Scott Weiland’s band finally takes the stage, it sparks a long discussion on the merits of various indie rock labels. By the time Violet yells out last call, Castiel finds that he’s a little reluctant to end the evening.

After Castiel uses the restroom before leaving, he’s expecting to find Jacob gone when he returns to the bar. To Castiel’s surprise, the man is still sitting there, nursing the last of his beer. “You missed your chance to slip out without any awkwardness,” Castiel murmurs, stepping up beside him.

Jacob studies him for a moment before responding honestly, “I guess I was hoping that you’d change your mind about coming home with me tonight.” He slides his hand up Castiel’s arm, the motion tugging on the sleeve enough to reveal the Eye of Ra tattooed there.

“I didn’t, no,” Castiel responds a little hesitantly, stepping away from Jacob’s touch. He waits for the anger that always comes in the face of rejection. “But I did enjoy talking to you,” he adds quickly.

“So, what are the chances I’ll get your number, then? I don’t want to push, but I’d definitely like to see you again.”

Castiel considers that for a moment. It’s been two years since Malachi; since he’s even contemplated being ready to start dating again. Before he can second guess himself, he holds out his hand for Jacob’s phone.

Castiel is glad that the drive home is short because two o’clock in the morning is definitely much later than he’s used to being out. By the time he falls into bed, it’s close to three. He’s glad that he doesn’t need to wake up early for school due to Labor Day. He lays awake for a while, replaying the events of the evening before retrieving his phone from the nightstand and sending Meg a text that says, “Are you awake?”

He lays the phone on his stomach to wait for a response, fairly confident that she is not only awake but still enjoying the NYC nightlife with her sister. It takes less than a minute for the phone to start ringing. He picks it up immediately.

“What’s wrong?” Meg barks out. There is music in the background for a moment, then the muffled sound of a door opening and closing.

Castiel rolls his eyes though she can’t see him. “Nothing is wrong.”

“If you’re texting me at three a.m., something is wrong. Spill it, Clarence.”

Castiel reluctantly tells Meg about Jacob, skipping what she always calls ‘the excruciating details’. “I liked him,” he finishes weakly.

Meg scoffs into the phone. “If you liked him so much, and he sounds hot by the way, why didn’t you take him up on it? I'm loathed to agree with Balthazar about something, but you’ve been a fucking hermit lately. I understand why, but—”

Castiel bristles at her response and cuts her off. “I’m not a child, Meg, despite what the two of you think.”

“Says the guy who texted me in the middle of the night to dish about boys.”

Castiel stiffens. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait, wait. Okay, I’m sorry. You’re having a crisis. Talk to me,” she demands. Castiel can hear the soft sound of a fan wherever Meg is hiding.

“I just, why is it so hard, Meg? I don’t want to be alone, but—”

“But this isn’t just about sex,” she cuts in.

“No, it isn’t about sex. I mean, I do miss sex,” and then glibly, “I think I even sort of remember what it feels like.”

Meg laughs, like he intended her to and he continues, “I don’t want just sex. I want to be with someone, really be with them, not just physically. I’m lonely, Meg, and a one night stand would only make me feel worse.”

He waits for her derision, but there is silence for a few moments before she says softly, “You’re a romantic, Castiel. You always have been. Not all of us are waiting for true love to sweep us off our feet, but I’ve always known that’s what you’re looking for.” There’s another moment of silence and he’s not sure if she’s expecting him to respond, but then she continues, “The problem is that you’ll never find it if you don’t put yourself out there. You got his number, right? Call him and go on a date, Castiel, a real date. Not everyone is out to hurt you.”  

“I know you’re right. Of course, you are. I can’t hide here forever and expect someone who wants to be with me to just appear, but I feel like I can’t trust myself anymore. What if he turns out to be like Malachi? I’m afraid I wouldn’t notice until it was too late.” Castiel knows that Meg understands what he is afraid of, but he’s never put it into words before. He was so quickly swept up by Malachi, so terrified of being alone, that he didn’t see until afterward how unhealthy their relationship was.

Meg chuckles darkly. “Oh don’t worry, I’ll kick his ass, and yours if I need to, if he turns out to be anything like Malachi. I can’t go through that again either.”

A wave of affection washes over him that he is sure Meg would ridicule. “What would I have done without you all these years, Meg?”

There’s a snort from the other end of the line. “You’d still be making paper mache sculptures in that piece-of-shit gallery in Chicago. Now go to sleep, Clarence. I’ve got a party to get back to. At least one of us still has a chance to get laid tonight. Ciao.”

The line goes dead. Castiel puts his phone back on the nightstand and rolls over in his empty bed, clutching the pillow to his chest with a sigh.

* * *

* * *

"Did you eat all the potato salad?”

Dean looks up from pulling a beer out of the fridge to see Jo standing in the doorway of the kitchen, one hip cocked against the doorframe. “Why the hell would I eat anything with the word salad in the name?” he asks honestly, confused by her animosity.

“It was on the table and now it’s gone.” She grabs the beer bottle out of his hand and downs a long swallow.

Dean pins her with an angry glare. “Dammit, Joanna! Stop doing that!” He grabs another beer for himself and offers, “Your mother took it outside. She was asking Jess for the recipe.”

Jo turns on her heel and marches away, so Dean follows her out of Bobby and Ellen’s kitchen. The couple uses every excuse to have a party and this Labor Day is no different. The backyard is still the same as it was when he was a kid, so it seems strange to watch a whole new set of children run around the lawn in swimsuits. Dean is glad the late summer cold snap has passed, shooting the temperatures back up into the low 80s for the past week. Not that lower temperatures would have kept Ben or the girls out of the pool.

Dean leans against the deck railing, bare feet and cut-off shorts with a vintage AC/DC t-shirt. His sunglasses are pushed up on his head as the sun has started to dip beneath the horizon. Ellen, Jess, and Andrea have recipe cards and colored pens spread out on the table, trading their culinary secrets. He could do without the potato salad, but he’s tempted to ask Andrea how to make the frozen Oreo cake she brought. It wasn’t as good as the pies he and Ben made yesterday, but it held its own in the dessert department.

Dean loves being surrounded by his family. Benny and Sam are crowded around the grill, making s’mores for the kids while Garth is on cleanup duty with wet paper towels. Despite his efforts, their faces and hands are smeared with chocolate and long strings of marshmallow. Jo, plate heaped high with what Dean figures is the last of the potato salad, plops to the ground next to them, coaxing them into making one of the treats for her.

On the other side of the yard, Bobby and John are tossing horseshoes. Dean has never gotten the hang of the game, but they treat it like an Olympic sport. The way the two men are sniping at each other, you would think the fate of the nation rests on the outcome. Both men have backgrounds that make them more competitive than most and Dean knows better than to get between them.

Dean relaxes against the railing, feeling calmer than he has in weeks. Although Ben has ups and down every day, Dean is more than used to them. There have been no more calls from school and although the notes still say that Ben is spending part of every day in the special classroom, he seems to be settling into kindergarten. He’s still nervous about the upcoming appointment with the psychologist, but things seem less disastrous than they had the first week.

Ellen’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Dean, come down here and tell Andrea how you make your pie crust.” Growing up taking care of Sam, especially when his father was drinking too much, means that Dean has always been comfortable in the kitchen. It wasn’t until adulthood, though, that he found that he actually enjoys it. He finds it relaxing to cook for Ben and himself every night, and he often boxes up some leftovers for Missouri.

Dean slides into the chair next to Benny’s wife. He snatches a pen out of Jess’ hand as she’s writing on a notecard, earning him a slap on the back of the head. Andrea is almost the mirror image of Jess. Where Andrea’s dark hair and soft green eyes reflect her Greek heritage, Jess is a 100% California native, with golden waves and pale blue eyes.

The differences certainly don’t end there. The daughter of a wealthy Greek businessman, Andrea carries herself with an almost regal air. She is refined and cultured, with enough will to keep Benny in line. Jessica Moore Winchester, on the other hand, is a firecracker who challenges even Dean with her raucous sarcasm and penchant for dirty jokes. The first time Sam brought her home from Stanford, where she was studying to be a nurse, she fit into the family as if she’d always been there.

“Watch it, Winchester,” Jess says, snapping up another pen.

Shooting her a smirk in response, Dean lists out the ingredients on the card, explaining how he keeps the crust from getting soggy. He’s outlining the last step when a piercing wail splits the stillness of the early evening, followed by Ben clearly yelling, “It’s not fair! You’re a big jerk!”

All of the adults turn to look, but Dean is out of his chair and down the deck steps before any of the others can react. Annie, Benny and Andrea’s youngest daughter, is sitting in the grass, her face screwed up as she lets out another ear-splitting howl. Ben is still screaming at her, his face red, incoherent with rage. By the time Dean makes it across the yard, Benny is scooping the toddler up, consoling her while he pats her back. Jo and Garth are both trying to talk to Ben, but he is still screaming, “You can’t get the bigger one! They all have to be the same! It’s not fair! You can’t have them not be the same!”

Dean reaches him and lifts him up, still screaming. “Ben, you have to calm down. Ben, listen to me,” Dean tries, but Ben is kicking and struggling. He’s crying as well, even though he’s still screaming.

“What the hell happened?” Dean asks while trying to hold on to his son’s flailing body.

Jo, Benny, and Garth look at each other before Jo answers, “He thought Annie’s s’more was bigger than his. I told him they were all the same because the graham crackers are the same, but he pushed Annie and started screaming at her.” She looks apologetic and Dean hates that look. His family and friends shouldn’t have to feel guilty telling him things about his son.

Annie has stopped crying now, nothing but little whimpers against Benny’s chest. Ben, however, is still struggling and yelling. His fists are pummeling Dean’s chest, and Dean grunts with the impact when one catches his chin. “Sorry, man,” Dean says to Benny and then repeats the apology to Andrea when she appears beside him.

“Its fine, Dean,” Andrea responds for both of them. “What do you need us to do?” She tips her head toward Ben, who is still struggling in Dean’s arms.

Dean shakes his head, “I got it. Just make sure she’s okay.”

He carries Ben away from the others and into the small storage room at the back of the garage. Since all the lawn furniture and things for the pool are outside, the room is practically empty. Dean sets Ben down, but he continues to thrash against him, landing several of the punches on Dean’s stomach and barely missing his groin. “Knock it off, Benjamin. Stop hitting me,” he says, voice firm but edging into anger.

Dean struggles not to lose his temper and scream at Ben. Hard-earned experience has taught him that it only makes these episodes worse. Instead, he just tries to avoid Ben’s fists. Finally, after what seems like hours but is probably only minutes, Ben’s movements become weaker and weaker until he sinks to the floor. Curling up in a ball with his arms wrapped around his knees, he’s still sobbing weakly.

Dean approaches him slowly and sits beside him. After a few more moments, he pulls Ben into his lap, holding him until the tears stop and he’s quiet. “It’s no fair when Annie gets a bigger s’more. She’s littler. She should get the littler one,” he says, sitting up to look at Dean.

Dean opens his mouth to disagree but decides not to get into it. “It doesn’t matter because no one is getting any more s’mores. You can’t push, Ben. You could have hurt Annie. She’s just a baby.”

“But, daddy, I didn’t get to eat mine, it’s all ruined.” His lower lip starts to quiver like he’s going to start crying again. “Stupid baby ruined everything.”

“The baby didn’t ruin it, Ben. You ruined it because you pushed her. Hands to ourselves, remember?”

Ben starts to wind up again, but a firm look from Dean stops him. “Hands to myself,” he repeats with a sigh.

“And now you’re gonna say sorry.”

“Don’t want to say sorry to a stupid baby.” The stubborn tilt to his head is back.

“Too bad. You’re gonna say sorry to her and if you don’t we’re goin’ home and you’ll miss the fireworks.” Bobby and John have made a tradition of not relegating fireworks to the fourth of July for as long as Dean can remember.

“No!” Ben exclaims, “I want to see grandpa set off the fireworks. They go up like rockets right into space.”

“Then you’ll apologize.”

Ben relents and they find some paper towels in the garage to clean up his blotchy face before going back out to the yard. Dean prompts Ben through the apology. Annie, never one to hold a grudge, throws her arms around Ben. She hugs him tight, earning an eye roll and a grimace from Ben but no comments. Thankfully, Benny and Sam shut down the grill while he and Ben were in the garage. Instead, Jess leads the kids in a game of freeze tag while they wait for it to get dark enough to start the fireworks.

Dean is grateful for the beer Jo hands him and he stops to take a long swallow before sinking down onto one of the lounge chairs. Dealing with one of Ben’s fits always exhausts him. He sits alone for a few minutes. He’s thinking about cutting the night short despite what he said to Ben when John stretches out on the chair beside him.

Dean looks over at his father, dark hair curling over his ears and his beard is coming in thicker than John usually lets it get. There’s gray in his beard, and a sprinkle at his temples, and Dean wonders when that happened. Dean takes another drink then sets the bottle down on the concrete on the side of the chair away from John. Although John has made it clear that he doesn’t expect everyone to stop drinking just because he has, it still makes Dean feel guilty when he has a beer around his father.

“He okay?” John asks, eyes following Ben around the yard. The children dissolve into laughter when Sam tackles Jess to the ground, tickling her mercilessly. Jess retaliates by tearing out handfuls of grass and shoving them down the back of his shirt.

Dean nods. Is he okay? Dean isn’t really sure anymore. “We should probably go before something else happens.”

“You’ll miss the fireworks,” John counters. There’s silence as they both think about what that means. “Remember that time you kids snuck out into the junk yard to shoot off bottle rockets?”

Dean smiles. “Yeah, me and Ash got to screwing around. We were breaking the sticks and throwing them up in the air, and one hit Jo in the back and burnt a hole right through her shirt. Only thing kept Ellen from tannin’ all our hides was how scared we were. I thought Jo was gonna have to go to the hospital,” he chuckles with the memory. “Stupid kids, we coulda really got hurt.”

“Kids are stupid, son. That’s what makes 'em kids.” He looks back to where Ben and the other kids have piled onto Sam and Jess, pulling Garth into the heap with them. “Ben will be stupid too, but he’ll be okay too.”

Dean thinks about that for a while and then reflects on everything he and Sam have been through. For eleven years, after the fire that killed their mother, he and Sam’s lives were a maddening cycle of different schools, hotel rooms, crappy apartments, and middle of the night escapes when John wasn’t able to pay the rent anymore. The only bright spot was the sporadic time they spent back in Lawrence with Bobby and Ellen. Those times were bittersweet, though, because Dean would never know how long it would take for John to decide that he needed to run from his demons again. Even after they moved back to Lawrence permanently when Dean was fifteen, it took over a year for Dean to finally believe they were really staying.

Bringing himself back to the present with a shake of his head, Dean says quietly, “I worry, you know? I worry about him so damn much. I remember Sam when he was this age and I don’t think he was this hard. I was only what, nine or ten, and Sam was way easier than this.”

“Every kid is different, Dean. Even you and Sam were so different.” He’s quiet for a moment, lost in the memories himself. “But I always figured that was because he never had your mother. Not the way you did anyway.”

“I get it, you know, how hard it is to not have a mom. I never wanted that for Ben,” Dean says quietly. “No matter how bad things got with me and Lisa, I never wanted him to not have her.”

John reaches out, hesitantly, and rests his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean isn’t the only one with regrets about the things he never wanted to turn out the way they did. “Of course, you didn’t. It’s just the way it worked out. Not fair, but there’s a bunch of not fair to go around.”

Dean clenches his fists and thinks about finishing the beer sitting next to him. He starts to reach for it and then stops himself. He wonders sometimes if that’s how it started for his father, after the fire. Just one more. Just to not have to think about the emptiness and remorse. “I want things to be better for him than we had,” he says, not thinking for a moment about the implication. He shoots an anxious look at John, bracing himself for anger.

John just sighs, weariness and resignation for all the mistakes he’s made apparent in the lines on his face. “You’re right, Dean. I know I didn’t do the best for you boys that I could have. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“We did alright, dad. Sam and I did okay, we’re okay,” Dean is quick to reassure him, quick to forgive all the things that weren’t okay, that weren’t alright.

“And that’s more on you than it is on me. On you and Bobby and Ellen, ‘cause they picked up the slack when I couldn’t. Your mother’s death broke me, Dean. When I should have been there for you, and for Sam, I let it sweep me away.” He looks to where his youngest son has scooped up his grandson onto his shoulders and smiles. “You did a good job with him, Dean. You were just as much a father to Sam as I ever was, even though you were just a kid yourself and never shoulda’ needed to. And you’ll do just fine with Ben too. I’m proud of you, boy. I don’t think you’ll ever know just how damn proud of you I am.”

Dean is silent, his throat tightening with emotion. Dean spent so long angry at his father that they almost lost this chance. Dean could have packed up and went to California with Ash and never gotten to build this relationship with his father. From a distance, it would have been easier to hold onto the pain and frustration that always came along with having John Winchester as his father. Instead, Dean gave up the person who meant the most to him in the world after Sammy and stayed to help John with his battle for sobriety. Because of that, he not only has this relationship with his father, but he also has a son who is now the most important person in his world. Dean figures it was a decent trade-off.

The Winchester men have never been ones for chick-flick moments, so Dean just places his hand over his father’s for a second and squeezes before shoving himself up off the chair. “Come on, old man. There’s some firecrackers with your name on them. Better get ‘em going before the kids conk out.” The two men head across the yard to where the others are setting up chairs around the fire pit, the half-finished beer beside Dean’s chair forgotten.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys finally meet. Yay! Its just for a hot minute, but at least its something.

Given the number of times he’s done this project, both at the gallery and in classrooms, Castiel is not at all surprised when a small blue hand lands on the side of his face. The paint smears across his cheek to his ear as Rose pulls away from Becky, frantically trying to wipe the paint off her palm onto any available surface. The class is doing a week-long theme on The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and the caterpillars made out of the children’s painted handprints are Castiel’s favorite part.

Or at least, they are after they’re finished. Convincing ten children who have serious sensory sensitivities to allow them to slather paint on the palms of their hands is a challenge at best. Castiel and Becky both wear long-sleeved smocks over their clothing, but Meg is suspiciously busy in one of the regular education classrooms for the project. By the time they finish the last of the prints, both the children and the adults are ready for a break.

While Becky gathers the student on the rug for an active counting game, Castiel hangs the paintings on the clothesline strung at the back of the room. There’s one more project tomorrow, but since it involves making a caterpillar out of a sock, it promises to be much less messy. Castiel is hoping he can talk Meg into helping out with that one.

As he’s hanging the last paper, the secretary’s voice comes across the intercom. “Mr. Novak, is Ben Winchester with you? _”_

Castiel glances around the room, even though he knows that the speech therapist pulled Ben for an assessment. “He’s with Mr. Trenton.”

“His father is here to pick him up for an appointment, but he’s early. He seems a little anxious.”

Castiel smiles. He’s known Mrs. Holt long enough to recognize that as code for “Can you come to the office and calm this parent down?” For whatever reason, every time there is an agitated parent in the building, Castiel is everyone’s first choice for ambassador. It makes no sense to him, as he doesn’t consider himself particularly good at talking to people. He glances down at the orange band on his wrist. Focusing on losing track of time certainly isn’t going to help him with this. “I’ll be right there,” he says with a repressed sigh. Castiel pulls off the smock and throws it over the back of his desk chair as he leaves the room.

On the way to the office, Castiel stops by Cole Trenton’s office. “If you can buy me fifteen minutes, I can get this part out of the way so we don’t have to start over,” the speech therapist tells him. Castiel knows that the school is trying to get all of their evaluations done so they can meet with Ben’s father as soon as they get the report from Dr. Barnes.

Castiel stops outside the office and watches Ben’s father through the windows. He’s standing awkwardly by the desk, picking at the seam on his shirt. Unlike the first time Castiel saw him, he’s wearing khaki pants and a dark gray button-down with the top button undone, as if he dressed up but is uncomfortable with it. Castiel remembers that Ben is seeing Dr. Barnes today, and his father is clearly nervous about it. Taking a deep breath, he pushes the door open.

Ben’s father turns toward him, clearly expecting his son, with a look of wary anxiety on his handsome face. “Mr. Winchester,” Castiel greets him. He pauses for just a moment before holding out his hand. “I’m Mr. Novak. Your son will be a few moments. He’s just finishing up with the speech therapist.”

The man looks at Castiel’s hand, then back to his face twice, before finally moving to clasp it. “Sorry, I, ah, you can call me Dean. Ben talks about you all the time. Guess I’m a little early. Never done anything like this before,” he rambles, ending with a sheepish grin.

There is a pause as Castiel registers that Mr. Winchester, _Dean_ he tells himself, hasn’t released his hand. His palm is callused and the slight scrape against Castiel’s fingers is distracting enough that he waits for another beat before releasing what has become a very awkward handshake. He’s torn between wanting to pull away and needing to hold on longer. “Hopefully, Ben doesn’t have many negative things to say. I aim to make my room a safe place for him,” Castiel offers, taking a step back and forcing himself to drop Dean’s hand. He can smell the man’s cologne, something spicy and enticing.

“Oh, no, it’s always _Mr. Novak says this_ and _Mr. Novak says that._ You’re like a freakin’ rock-star in our house,” Dean returns, lips curling up into a slight smile. His green eyes sparkle when he talks about his son, his anxiety momentarily forgotten.

Castiel shifts uncomfortably at the thought of Ben and his father talking about him. “Ah, well, Ben is a delight. We enjoy his time with us quite a bit,” he says, then as an afterthought, “And it’s, ah, Castiel. The students call me Mr. Novak, but we’re less formal with the parents.” Although there is some truth to that, Castiel admits privately that he really just wants to hear his name spoken in Dean’s gruff voice.

“Castiel. Huh, that’s a mouthful. Cool, though. If half of what Ben says about you is true, it fits you,” Dean responds, leaving Castiel to ponder what exactly _that_ means.

He’s just about to ask when Dean reaches out and runs his finger against his cheekbone, much to Castiel’s shock. Castiel is torn between jerking away and leaning into the warmth of the touch, and he’s not sure which would be more awkward. Instead, he reaches up and follows the path of Dean’s caress with his own fingertips.

Dean does jerk back then, face flushing red. “Sorry, man, you, ah, you got something there.”

Castiel can feel the drying paint on the side of his face where Rose attempted to make him part of the project. “Oh! Yes, we were making a project and one of the students decided I look better as abstract art."

Dean grins and quirks one eyebrow, but the office door opens before he can respond. Ben breaks away from the speech therapist and runs to his father. Dean kneels down to hug him, as Castiel saw him do the first day of school. The easy affection between them is in marked contrast to the uncomfortable hugs Castiel endured with his own father. “There you are, trouble. Beginnin’ to think I was bein’ stood up,” Dean says teasingly, rising again. Ben’s tiny hand is now held comfortably in his larger one.

“I was playing a game with Mr. Trenton. There were lots of questions, but I knew all the answers,” Ben responds as they start to walk to the door. Castiel exits behind them and watches as they leave the building. Dean pauses at the heavy double doors at the front of the school and twists around to direct a parting wave at Castiel, who waves back.

Turning to walk back to his classroom, Castiel almost hits into Meg, who is leaning casually against the wall just outside the office. “What are you doing, Meg?” Castiel asks sharply, pulling back to take in the woman’s smug smile.

“Ben Winchester’s father,” she says as if that’s an answer.

Castiel starts walking toward the classroom and Meg falls in beside him. “He came to pick up Ben for his evaluation with Dr. Barnes.”

“Uh huh.”

Castiel stops to turn to her. “What is that supposed to mean? Ben has an appointment today and Mrs. Holt asked me to come down and talk to him while Cole was finishing up with Ben,” he responds, his tone sharp. He pauses, taking a calming breath and pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I don’t even know why I’m explaining this to you.”

“He’s hot.”

Castiel flushes and turns away to continue walking. “Is he? I hadn’t noticed,” he says coolly, grateful that they’re almost back to the classroom. Not that it will stop Meg from picking up the topic again after school.

“Please, Clarence,” she scoffs, raising one dainty eyebrow, “You’re not blind and I’m not stupid. That man is damn sexy, which you noticed the first day of school when you were staring at him through the classroom door.”

“And he’s the father of one of our students,” he responds slowly as if speaking to one of those students. Then he adds as an afterthought, “Who, for all either of us knows, is absolutely, completely straight.” At her bark of laughter, he immediately wishes he hadn’t.

Meg shoots him a triumphant grin, completely aware that he just admitted to at least thinking about Dean’s possible sexual orientation. She puts her hand against the classroom door to prevent him from opening it. “You. Touched. Him,” she says, pausing between each word for effect. “I’ve never seen you shake one of the parent’s hands before.” Without giving Castiel a chance to respond, she turns and heads back the way they came.

Castiel watches her go, aware that she’s adding a little extra sashay to her walk. _Damn it_ , he thinks, glancing down at his hand. He realizes uneasily that she is right.

* * *

* * *

The drive across the river to the address on the little appointment card shouldn’t take long, but Dean takes the scenic route. If he’s not ready for someone to tell him that there’s something wrong with his kid, so be it. As they head down route 59 toward the University of Kansas campus, Dean thinks about stopping at Garth’s music store on the way home to keep his mind occupied.

“Mr. Novak says that if I try really hard and do good, I can look at the planetarium on the computer during library tomorrow,” Ben comments from the back seat. He hasn’t stopped talking about Mr. Novak since they got in the car.

 _Castiel_ , Dean remembers. What the hell kind of name is that anyway? Despite their freaky stare-off when Dean picked Ben up on the first day of school, it was still a shock to see how startlingly blue the man’s eyes are up close. Almost the same shade as the paint that was drying on his face. And why the fuck had Dean touched him? It was as if his hand had moved without his permission. Until he felt the man’s stubble against his fingertips, he hadn’t even registered the intent.

Dean sighs heavily. He’s just bored, or lonely, or horny, or . . . whatever. Just because the man could have stepped right out of one of Dean’s wet dreams, with his tousled sex-hair and his gravelly voice and whatever the hell kind of cologne he wears that made Dean want to press his face to the man’s neck and inhale deeply, it doesn’t mean anything. Dean forces himself to stop thinking about his son’s teacher and concentrate on the drive.

He is surprised to find that the clinic is actually an old Victorian house two blocks from the University of Kansas of campus. At first, he thinks he might have the wrong address, but the leaded-glass in the door is clearly etched with _Pamela Barnes, PhD_. Holding Ben’s hand and clutching the packet of papers he filled out, Dean takes a deep breath and pushes open the door.

The front room, what was once the parlor, is decorated in cream and dark wood that still feels more like a home than a doctor’s office. There is a dark mahogany desk in the corner. A striking woman sits behind the desk, her dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She looks up from the computer, rising with a smile. If this is what shrinks look like, Dean figures getting your head poked at might not be all bad

“Mr. Winchester, and Ben I suppose?” she says warmly, making it both a statement and a question at once. “I’m Pam. I suppose that should be Dr. Barnes, but I can’t seem to get used to it, so you’ll just call me Pam. I hope you were able to find the place okay.”

“Yeah, ah, it was fine. A little thrown off, I guess. Wasn’t really expectin’ a house.”

“It was actually my parent’s house. When they passed, I couldn’t bear to sell it, so I turned it into my office. It’s so much nicer than paying rent in some high-rise up by the hospital,” Pam responds lightly, turning to lead them into another room the right. This one is painted pale green with the same heavy wood accents. She motions to a grouping of four comfortable looking wingback chairs. The rest of the room contains shelves with various toys and games and there is a round table in the corner.

“Yeah, jeez, it’s really nice.” He looks down at his hands and realizes that he's still holding the big yellow envelope of papers. “We, ah, I mean my brother and some friends who know Ben pretty well helped me fill these out. Some of them didn't make a whole lot of sense,” he admits, handing the packet over to her.

Pam takes the envelope and slides the papers out. As she flips through the forms, she makes a few soft humming noises that Dean wants to ask about. Instead, he looks over at Ben. He’s holding Benson tight against his chest, studying Pam intensely. Dean reaches out to run a hand through his hair and says softly, “You okay, bug? Not nervous are you? Nothin’ to be nervous ‘bout.”

Pam lays the papers aside, looking directly at Ben. “Of course not, Ben. There’s nothing to be nervous about at all. Why don’t you tell me what you know about why you’re here, and then I’ll tell you how today is going to go? Deal?”

Ben nods. “Sometimes I don’t control myself at school. Mr. Novak says self-control is the chief element in self-respect, and self-respect is the chief element in courage. Thu, ah, Thuc, Thucydides said that. But I don’t know the year. Mr. Novak didn’t tell me the year. I wish he would have because it’s better when I know the number.”

Pam’s eyes flick to Dean, then back to Ben. “Mr. Novak is a smart man. So sometimes you find it hard to control yourself when you get angry or frustrated?”

“Uh huh.” Ben nods more assertively, then darts his eyes to Dean’s face before looking down. “I get mad at my friends and at daddy when he tells me to stop coloring my planets or looking at the stars. Because when it’s time for bed, I have to go to bed because daddy’s got to get up real early for work. Six o’clock is real early, but I don’t know why Uncle Bobby makes daddy go to work so early. School doesn’t start until eight forty-five and it would be better if daddy went to work at the same time I went to school.”

Dean chuckles softly and Pam smiles. “I think I understand, Ben. That was very helpful,” she says. “Now I’ll tell you what we’re going to be doing today. First, I’m going to talk to your dad for a while. You can play with any of the toys in the room that you want while we’re talking. After we’re done, as long as it’s okay with you, I’d like dad to wait outside while you and I do some games together. I think you’re going to be really good at my games.”

Dean recoils slightly at the thought of leaving Ben alone, but Pam reads his apprehension easily. “If you’d like to stay in the room during the second part, we can also do it that way, but I’ve found that the kids are less distracted if the parents wait outside.”

“Ah, okay, yeah, I can wait outside as long as it’s cool with Ben.”

Pam pulls an electronic tablet from the side table next to her chair. “Ok, then, go ahead Ben, you can take a look at the toys.” When Ben walks over to the cabinet and starts to sort through the puzzles, she turns to Dean with a grin, “Ok, let’s get started. Tell me about his mother’s pregnancy with him.”

* * *

* * *

Just over a week later, Dean finds himself taking the drive to Pam’s office again, this time without Ben. The afternoon spent in the clinic wasn’t horrible, but he doesn’t understand why she wanted to know a lot of it. He gets why she asked about when Ben started talking and what Dean does when Ben gets upset, but what does it matter what foods Ben eats or if he likes it when Dean hugs him?

Ben seemed happy and relaxed when he came out of Pamela’s office though Dean was slightly on edge because of the four cups of coffee he downed during the three hours he was waiting. Pam told him he could go explore the neighborhood or get something to eat while she was working with Ben, but Dean was too anxious to leave Ben alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Pam, but what if Ben got upset about something? What if he got angry and Pam didn’t know what to do? Dean would feel horrible if Ben hurt her. So Dean sat in the office just in case, drinking coffee, watching the co-eds stroll past the windows, and playing with his phone.

When Dean pushes the front door open, Pam is again sitting at the desk in the corner. When she stands to greet him, he can’t help but appreciate the way her silk blouse stretches over her curves, so he forces himself to look at her face instead. Although she has an open, friendly smile, there’s something about the tilt of her eyebrows that tells Dean she caught him checking her out and is amused by it.

He follows her back into the room to the right, but this time, they sit at the round table. She has two uneven stacks of papers in front of her and she slides the smaller pile toward him. “This a copy of my report, which I’ve already sent to the school with my recommendations. From what I understood when I talked to Mrs. Mills, she will be contacting you shortly to schedule a team meeting at the school.”

 _Another meeting_ , Dean thinks. His life has become an endless string of meetings and people pushing him one way or another. He doesn’t look at the papers. “Just break it down for me. Is there something wrong with my son?” He doesn’t intend for the words to sound confrontational, but even he can hear that they do.

There’s a moment of tension before Pam smiles. “Dean, there is nothing _wrong_ with your son. In fact, there are many, many things _right_ with him. If you give me some time to explain everything to you, I promise, you’ll have all of the answers you need.”

Dean feels like a jackass for snapping at the woman. He scrubs one hand down his face and around to the back of his neck. “Yeah, okay. Sorry, I mean, sorry for being an ass.”

“You have every right to be apprehensive. This is hard for every parent, no matter the outcome.” She reaches out and flips over the first few sheets of the pile in front of him until she gets to a page with a series of numbers. She points one slim finger at the number in the center of the bottom of the page.

One hundred and forty-three. Okay. He doesn’t understand, and he feels stupid that he doesn’t know what the number means. Dean flicks his attention from the page back to her face. “Okay? One-forty-three. What does that mean?”

“That, Mr. Winchester, means that no matter what else I’m about to you, it will never change the fact that your son is incredibly gifted. The word most of us would use to describe Ben is genius.”

Dean stares. He stares at the number and then at her face and then back at the number. Genius? He’s always known that Ben is smart. Hell, with the way the kid reads and remembers everything you tell him, it wasn’t hard to notice. But genius? “Like Einstein genius?” Dean manages to gasp out the only reference he has.

Pam laughs lightly. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. The important thing is that Ben is smarter than ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the population.”

Dean huffs out a breath and slumps back in the seat. “Wow. I, ah, huh,” he pauses, tries to gather his thoughts. “Wasn’t expectin’ that. Guess he sure don’t get that from me.”

Pam laughs again and gives him a gentle smile. “Well, in fact, Dean, research actually shows that there is a genetic component to IQ, so in a way, he did get it from you.”

Dean smiles too, not sure he’s convinced of that, but then his expression is replaced with one of confusion. “But I don’t get what that has to do with why he’s havin’ trouble. I mean, if he’s so smart, you should be able to fly through the work they give him. Is that why he’s so stubborn?”

“Giftedness isn’t an answer to everything, Dean. Ben is very complex, and there are other factors that influence the way he handles certain situations,” she says, pulling out another sheet of paper.

“Why does it sound like this is where the big _but_ comes in? Like, your kids super smart, but . . .” He lets the last word draw out for emphasis.

Pam sighs. “It’s not so much a _but_ as it is an _also_ _._ You, as well as the school, provided a great deal of information about Ben’s day to day life. I also used a specialized evaluation on the day he was here to learn more about how Ben interacts with the world. All of that information together led me to conclude that your son has what we call dual-exceptionalities. In other words, in addition to being very intelligent, Ben also has another way in which he is different from most other little boys.”

Dean’s frustration gets the better of him and he snaps, “Look, doc, I’m sure most people need these big words and drawn out speeches to soften the blow, but I’m a ‘rip the band-aid off’ kinda guy. Just tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Pam nods and says gently, “Ben meets the criteria for a developmental delay known as Asperger’s Disorder. It is a very high functioning form of Autism that comes with its own range of difficulties, one of which is the extreme rigidity that you see in Ben. Another is the extremely limited, intense interest in one topic. For Ben, this would be his obsession with space and numbers. People who are described as having Asperger’s also have difficulty reading social cues, often show poor judgment in social situations, and may also have sensory processing issues.”

Dean holds up a hand to cut her off. “Wait. Just wait a damn minute. Autism? Like, ah, like Rain Man? But Ben talks just fine. He’s not like that guy. He can go out in public and talk to people.”

“Yes, Dustin Hoffman’s character in Rain Man did have Autism,” she agrees, “but Autism is what we call a spectrum disorder, meaning that there are many, many different ways that it presents. In fact, there are as many different ways as there are people who carry the diagnosis. All it means for Ben is that he processes information and interacts with the world in a very individualized way.”

She lets him process that for a moment, but Dean doesn’t respond as his head is spinning so she continues, “Because of this, and his extremely high intelligence, Ben is going to need a very specialized educational program. I know this is a lot to process, so I’m not going to overload you with information today. I have several pamphlets that will give you more information on both giftedness and Asperger’s Disorder. What I am going to tell you is that your son is a sweet, intelligent, generous, lovely little boy. None of this changes that. He is exactly the same right now as he was before you walked through that door and heard these words. Now you just have more information to better meet his needs.”

Dean nods. It’s really all he can do. He feels shell-shocked. What the hell is he supposed to do with all this? He’s just a mechanic who barely got through high school. He sure as hell isn’t smart enough to figure out what he’s supposed to do to help Ben.

Pam watches the fear and panic play over his face for a moment before laying her hand gently on his arm. “Dean? You’re not alone. No one is expecting you to do this by yourself,” she says as if she can read his swirling thoughts. “From what you’ve said, you have a very supportive family, and you have a great team at Ben’s school. Mr. Novak is one of the best Autistic Support teachers I’ve ever worked with and Mr. Tran has an amazing Gifted program.”

Dean’s eyes narrow at that. “That’s what he does? He teaches kids with Autism?” he asks sharply. At her nod, he forces out a breath. “He knew? They all knew. All these weeks, everyone at the school knew what was going on and they never said anything. That’s why they didn’t tell me what his special classroom was.”

“They suspected. Dean, they can’t just jump to conclusions without gathering all of the information first. Yes, they suspected that he has Asperger’s, and Mr. Novak shared with me that he believed Ben is highly intelligent. They didn’t keep it from you as a trick. They did it because you, and Ben, deserve to have the most complete information they can give you.”

“Okay,” Dean concedes. “I get that. I see that. I just, wow, this is a lot to take in.”

“It is. You’re actually handling it a lot better than a lot of the parents I give this news. Hey, you haven’t thrown anything,” she jokes.

Dean allows himself to smile then, even though it does nothing to dissolve the heavy weight of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He thanks her and tells her that he will call Mrs. Mills if he doesn’t hear from her by tomorrow afternoon. He takes the big yellow envelope back, this time filled with the report for him to read over himself, pamphlets about giftedness and Autism, and flyers for local activities and support groups. He promises to call her if he doesn’t understand anything in the papers, or if he has any questions about the resources she gave him to look up.

And then, finally, he’s back in the car alone. He puts the key in the ignition, and then pulls it back out. Damn it. He will not cry in the parking lot like a girl, he tells himself. For what feels like the millionth time, he wishes Lisa was here to tell him what to do. No matter how much she and Dean fought, she always knew exactly what to do with Ben.

Dean angrily swipes his hands across his eyes, knocking away any tears that threaten to fall. His phone beeps again, another text message from concerned family and friends, but Dean shuts it off. He starts the car and heads toward Missouri’s. He’ll text everyone when he gets home to tell them not to worry, that he will fill them in later. Right now, all he wants it to pick Ben up, order a pizza, and snuggle on the couch with his baby until they both fall asleep. He’ll deal with the rest of it tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some more Dean and Cas interaction!
> 
> Trigger warning: The second section of this chapter may be triggering for individuals with trauma related to parent-child interactions. If you need more info before reading, details are in the end notes.

Castiel’s phone buzzes for the second time and he glances at the screen before shoving it in his pocket. The printer is still shooting out the last of the pages he needs for the meeting and he doesn’t have time for this.

“Loverboy again?” Meg quips with a throaty chuckle.

“I really wish you would stop calling him that, Meg. You’re the one who convinced me to go out with him,” Castiel retorts, slamming the lid of the copier after clearing a misfeed for the second time. The rest of the team is already in the conference room and Ben’s father will be arriving any minute.

Undaunted, Meg takes the pages from Castiel and begins organizing them. “Trouble in paradise then? I thought you two went out last night?”

Finally, the last page prints and Castiel gathers up the stacks of paperwork before answering. “We did, it just, I don’t know. He’s nice enough. He’s very pleasant and it was an enjoyable dinner, but—” Castiel pauses. He can’t put into words why he isn’t interested in Jacob. The man is attractive and charming, as well as successful and intelligent, but Castiel had been bored at dinner. They had driven separately, and Jacob lingered at Castiel’s car in the parking garage, angling for an invitation that Castiel had no intention of offering.  

“As least tell me you fucked him,” Meg says with a leer, as they turn the corner toward the conference room.

“Meg!”

“Or let him fuck you, I don’t judge your preferences, Clarence,” she continues, unfazed by Castiel’s deadly glare.

Castiel glances around the hallways, which are blessedly empty. “We’re in a school, Meg, an elementary school! You can, at least, watch your language,” he chastises, then dropping to a whisper. “If you must know, he kissed me goodnight and that was all. He is a gentleman.”

“And?”

Castiel sighs, determined to finish this conversation before entering the conference room. Although he is friendly with all of his colleagues, he doesn’t need them knowing details of his personal life. “And it was fine. Nice even. A little like what I imagine kissing you would be like,” he adds, crossing his arms.

Meg chuckles. “So like kissing your sister?”

“Well, I would imagine that my brother is a somewhat more exciting kisser,” he says dryly, pushing through the door to the sound of Meg’s laughter.

The conference table is already filled with school staff, including the speech therapist, guidance counselor, Ben’s classroom teacher, and the gifted teacher. Ben’s father and a petite blond that Castiel recognizes as one of the women who bring Ben to school are already seated at the table as well. There are only two seats available, just to the left of Dean. Meg quickly slides into the one farthest away, forcing Castiel to take the chair immediately beside him.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean says with a grin, pulling his chair away from the table to allow Castiel space to slide his chair in. “Good to see ya.”

Castiel glances over at him sharply. “Cas?”

Dean flushes and looks down at the table before flicking his eyes back to Castiel’s face. “Yeah, I, uh, sorry, man. Your name is kind of a mouthful, so I’ve just been, ah, shortening it in my head.”

Castiel’s breath catches at the notion that Dean has been thinking about him often enough to devise a nickname. It’s surprising, really, that no one has ever called him that before. He certainly likes it better than Clarence or Cassie. “No, it’s fine, really. I don’t mind.”

“If you’re sure,” Dean returns, studying his face. After a long moment, he turns to the blond at his right. “This is Jo. She’s a friend of the family. I guess I was actin’ a little nervous, so Jo offered to come along with me.”

Castiel greets the woman, taking a moment to register that she’s quite pretty though she seems to be significantly younger than Dean. She’s sitting close enough that her shoulder brushes Dean’s every time she moves and Castiel crushes the flicker of jealousy at Dean’s obvious comfort with her. As Castiel suspected, Dean Winchester is most definitely straight.

Shoving the completely unprofessional thoughts out of his head, Castiel turns his attention to Jody. She is passing out the copies of the reports Castiel brought from the printer. “We’re each going to play a role in your son’s education, but before we get to that, let’s go through Dr. Barnes’ report," she says.

As the team discusses the report, Castiel watches Dean. Since Jody is sitting at the opposite end of the table, Castiel can observe him without Dean being aware. Every now and then, Dean asks a question, or leans over to mutter something to Jo, but for the most part he is quiet. Although he says little, Castiel has the feeling that he is taking in every word, considering it and turning it over in his mind. Rather than the glazed look that some parents get during these meetings, Dean’s eyes flicker between the faces of those talking constantly. Castiel can see where Ben gets his intelligence.

When the conversation switches from talking about the report to reviewing the plan that the school has devised to address Ben’s needs, Dean leans back in his chair and sighs. “Look, I’m just a mechanic, so I’m not too good with all this school stuff. My brother, Sam, he’s the smart one in the family, but I know you all wanna do what’s best for Ben. So just cut right to that. What’s the game plan and what do I need to do to help?”

Castiel has to bite his tongue to keep from arguing against Dean’s assessment that his brother is the smart one. Instead, he listens carefully as each member of the team talks about what their piece of the plan entails. Cole Trenton describes the social skills group that he runs, as well as the once-weekly sessions he will have with Ben. Dean stops him only once, to ask what pragmatic language means, and despite his argument against his intelligence, Dean understands immediately once Cole explains.

Keven Tran talks about the gifted enrichment program. He explains how all of Ben’s academic work will be modified to fit his needs and Dean’s eyes light up at the mention of a robotics camp and science projects. When Kevin stresses that Dean can always send in ideas about other projects Ben might like to complete, Jo punches him in the leg under the table and Dean smothers a chuckle. Clearly there is an inside joke there, sparking another wave of envy in Castiel.

Finally, it is Castiel and Meg’s turn to talk about the Autistic Support part of the plan. Castiel draws a quick involuntary breath when Dean’s vibrant green eyes turn back to him. He shakes his head slightly to clear it, wishing ardently that he felt this attraction to Jacob instead of one of his student’s parents. “Since Ben does so well academically, he’ll really only be coming into our classroom when he is overwhelmed or needs a safe place to calm down. Instead, Meg will be working with him in Sarah’s classroom to help him learn how to manage his anxiety and frustration. Cole, Kevin, Meg, and I will also be working together to help Ben start to learn what Asperger’s is and how to recognize how it affects him.”

“Man, it would be great if you’ve got something to help me learn that,” Dean interrupts with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ll admit I don’t get this whole thing.”

Castiel nods. “We actually do. Meg and I run a group for our students and their parents on Wednesday nights at six o’clock. We typically have a project or activity for the children and a discussion topic for the parents. You and Ben are welcome to join us, of course.” He glances past Dean at Jo and adds, “You’re also welcome to bring any family members or friends who would like to learn more. Anyone who is a large part of Ben’s life can benefit from understanding more about Autism.” If this girl is dating his father, she should know how to handle Ben.

Dean’s gruff voice pulls Castiel’s attention back to him. “Yeah, man, that sounds great. Not sure how often we’ll be able to make since I don’t get off work 'til late some nights, but we’ll try.”

Before he can overthink what he is about to do, Castiel reaches out and writes his phone number at the top of the report in front of Dean. “You’re also welcome to call or text me if you run into any problems with Ben. I know the first few months after getting the diagnosis can be very overwhelming.” He resolutely ignores the feeling of Meg’s stare drilling into the back of his head and starts to put together excuses for the interrogation that he knows will come as soon as they’re alone.

“Hey, yeah, that’s great. Thanks,” Dean responds, immediately pulling out his phone to enter the number into his contacts. He shoots Castiel a boyish grin that does nothing to quell the improper thoughts Castiel has been having. “I mean, I promise not to prank call you or drunk text you or anything,” he jokes.

Thankfully, Jody calls an end to the meeting before Castiel has to respond to Dean’s teasing. As he and Meg gather up the papers, he overhears Dean and Jo talking to Jody about transportation. As he follows Meg out of the room, he realizes that he’s relieved that at least he won’t have to see Dean’s girlfriend at the school anymore.

* * *

* * *

Dean squints against the sunlight filtering through the blinds. He can hear Ben in the other room, but he presses his face into the pillows instead of getting up. Once upon a time, he and Ash would have been stumbling in from the bar at three a.m. on a Sunday morning. Now, staying up until midnight folding clothes and catching up on Dr. Who is enough to wipe him out. Getting old blows.

Things have been blessedly quiet and running smoothly since the meeting at school two weeks ago. At first, Ben was hesitant about riding the bus to school, but Missouri made a game of it. By the third day, Ben made friends with a little girl on the bus and everyone’s apprehension declined. Although neither Jo nor Ellen ever said a word about the inconvenience of driving Ben to school every day, Dean knows that not making schedules around him took a lot of stress off them both.

The muffled sounds of little feet on the carpeting warn Dean just before Ben launches himself at the bed. He lands on top of Dean, drawing a gasp as his elbow catches Dean in the stomach. “Daddy, daddy, daddy,” Ben calls, shaking Dean and burrowing his face against Dean’s cheek.

“I hear you, bug. I’m up,” Dean grumbles, rolling over and pushing Ben off him.

Untroubled, Ben snuggles back up to Dean’s chest. “Can we go to the park? Can we? It’s getting cold and the leaves are all turning colors. I want to see if I can find some leaves to make a sculpture like we made at school. Grandma Ellen would like a leaf sculpture, don’t you think? I’m going to put the one I made at school on the table in the living room so we can see it every day.”

As usual, Dean’s head swirls with the effort of keeping up with Ben’s monologs. “Okay, okay. Yeah, I gotta run some stuff over to Grandpa’s place, but we can go down to the park after.”

“Maybe Grandpa would come to the park with us? I bet he would like the park. He likes being outside.”

Dean considers that for a moment. He supposes his father does like being outside. He never really thought about it before. Dean can count on one hand the number of times John took him and Sam to the park. If they were in Lawrence, they went with Ellen and kids. Any other time, it was just him and Sam. He ruffles Ben’s hair. “Sure, we can ask. I bet he’d like that.”

Along with all the other changes Dean made once Ben came along, he had to relinquish his penchant for sleeping in the nude. It was a habit he picked up from Ash, but having a kid in the house made everything a clothing required occasion. Pajama bottoms firmly in place, Dean pulls a t-shirt over his head before stumbling into the bathroom.

Ben is already in the kitchen when Dean reappears in the hallway. He starts toward the noises but stops suddenly when he catches something in Ben’s room out of the corner of his eye. Turning back to the doorway, Dean sees that all of the clothes he folded and carefully snuck into Ben’s drawers last night are strewn across the room.

Dean’s muscles tense up as he tries, and fails, to control his anger. “Benjamin Braedon Winchester, get your ass in here!” he bellows, wincing at the clatter of dishes hitting the floor in the kitchen.

There’s a moment of silence, then the sound of footsteps heading away from the bedrooms toward the living room. Dean whirls and stalks across the house. He heads straight for the coffee table in front of the couch. It is a large wooden piece with doors that open for storage underneath, but they never keep anything there. Dean wrenches the doors open and finds Ben curled up inside. Although his small form is shaking and his face is wet with tears, Dean grabs him by the arm and pulls him roughly out.

Dean stomps back to the bedroom, pulling Ben along despite his struggling, and pushes him into the room. “What the hell, Ben? Seriously? I was up half the night folding those and you just fucking dump them on the floor? Why the hell would you do that?” His tone is still sharp, but he’s managed to rein in the volume.

Ben is still crying, his face red and blotchy. “They don’t smell right! I had to find ones that smell right but they were all at the bottom and I couldn’t get to them. I tried to fold them back up right, but I can’t do it good as you do and they wouldn’t go!” he sniffles, breath hitching every few words.

Dean shakes his head, trying to make sense of Ben’s words. “Why wouldn’t they smell right? I washed them, folded them, and put them in your drawer. They’re exactly the same as they always are,” he bites out in exasperation.

“They’re not!” Ben insists, picking up a Batman shirt and sniffing it with a grimace before shoving it at Dean. “They don’t smell right! It’s not the same smell. They don’t smell like you or the sheets or Benson. They don’t smell right.”

Dean throws the shirt back on the floor without smelling it. He turns into the hallway and grabs the empty clothes basket he left there last night. “Put all the clothes in there and we’re gonna fold them again after breakfast,” he demands, “and no park today.”

Dean resolutely ignores Ben’s renewed sobs as he storms out to the kitchen. Milk is splattered across the counter and up the side of the refrigerator from the cup Ben obviously dropped when Dean yelled. Muttering to himself, Dean grabs a dishtowel and cleans up the mess, throwing the empty cup into the sink with more force than strictly necessary.

Gathering the milk soaked towel, he stomps out to the laundry room to put it in the washing machine. Sitting next to the door, ready to go out for recycling, is an empty detergent bottle. Slamming the door of the washer, Dean glances from the bottle on the floor to the one on the shelf and freezes. His lungs seize up for a moment, cold trickling into his chest.

Dean picks up the empty bottle and places it on the shelf next to the bottle he grabbed from the dollar store yesterday. The bottles are the same shape, same color. They even have the same little girl on the front. They are essentially the same . . . except for the tiny triangle of color in the lower corner. One is labeled “Spring Fresh” in pale green letters while the other one sports pale blue letters that read “Summer Fresh.”

Dean slowly spins off both caps and alternates holding them to his nose. Son of a bitch. They’re different. The new one is more flowery, less crisp. He replaces the lids and huffs out a breath, leaning against the dryer. He can still hear Ben crying from his room, and there is an overwhelming urge to pretend like he hadn’t discovered the different detergents.

Guilt begins to seep in, weighing him down. Losing his temper and yelling at Ben is one thing, but not owning up to his mistake when Ben was right smacks too much of old John Winchester to sit well with Dean. He gathers up both bottles and trudges back to Ben’s room.

Dean’s heart breaks at the sight that greets him. All of the clothes are in the basket and the drawers have been pushed shut. Ben is curled up against the dresser, Benson clutched to his chest. He’s still sobbing quietly, his body shaking with each indrawn breath.

Tears burn behind Dean’s eyes and he mentally kicks himself. He did this. He lost his temper and wouldn’t listen. He made his son feel this way.

Dean sits next to Ben, legs crossed into a position he’s not entirely sure he can get out of, and puts the bottles next to him. He places one hand on Ben’s shoulder and when Ben doesn’t flinch away, he hauls the small body up onto his lap, cradling Ben against his chest. They sit like that for several minutes, Dean running his hands soothingly over Ben’s back and murmuring nonsense sounds.

Finally, Ben’s crying stops and he whispers in a small voice, “I smelled them, Daddy. They don’t smell right.”

Dean fights back tears and buries his face in Ben’s hair. The clean scent of the only shampoo Ben will use almost undoes him. He knows that Ben is sensitive to smells. It’s not like they haven’t been through this before. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispers, pressing his lips against Ben’s forehead. He turns Ben slightly so that he can show him the bottles. “You were right, baby. Daddy was wrong, they’re different. I didn’t mean to, but I bought the wrong kind and I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Ben.” His voice hitches on the last words.

Ben gives a small hiccup and nods. He runs one finger across each bottle and nods again as if accepting Dean’s words. Snuggling tighter against Dean’s chest, he pulls Benson up to his face and sniffs him. Dean sits there rocking Ben against him, his hand cradling Ben’s head until he realizes that he can’t feel his legs anymore.

Reluctantly shifting Ben away, Dean offers, “Come on, bug. Let’s go eat breakfast. We’ll stop on the way to the park and buy the right kind of detergent so we can wash all your clothes again tonight. They’ll be good as new for school tomorrow.”

Using the dresser to pull himself to his feet, Dean’s legs tingle from the rush of blood back into them. He holds his hand out to Ben. It should make him feel better when Ben slides his tiny hand into his grasp, knowing that he has already been forgiven, but it really doesn’t.

* * *

* * *

There’s a bite to the mid-afternoon air as Castiel fills his lungs to capacity. He and Juliet are only a mile into their four-mile run, but he’s already feeling a bit of a burn in his thighs. Normally, they do a long run on Sundays that takes them out past the airport, but a phone call from his mother led to a late start. With dusk coming earlier, he doesn’t have time for a route that will take almost two hours.

As a child, Castiel had never been particularly athletic. Instead, he was content with his books and paints. After college, Michael, and the aftermath of their split, he needed something to pour his energy into that wouldn’t take him down another path of self-destruction. To Meg’s disgust, that thing became running.

Despite her loathing for exercise of any kind, Meg was in the crowd surrounding the finish line when Castiel finished his first marathon twelve years ago. Since then, she’s only missed two of more than a dozen marathons. He has also completed several half-marathons and shorter races, but it is the dedication required for the long runs that draws him.

Lost in his own thoughts, running is another form of meditation for him. Castiel enjoys the symbolism of moving forward while ending in the same place that running represents, different from the calm comfort of yoga. He lets the soft huffs of Juliet’s breathing beside him lull him, syncing his stride to the sound of her paws hitting the dirt.

Turning past the park, Castiel loosens his grip on the leash that keeps Juliet at his side. He knows that she wouldn’t stray, but Lawrence has a strict leash law. Juliet lengthens her gait, surging out in front of him. He watches her for few moments, then looks up to take in his surroundings again. Their tiny suburb is safe, but that doesn’t mean he can afford to be unaware.

As they pass the little playground set in the north corner of the park, Castiel’s gaze is drawn by the man standing next a small boy on the swingset. Despite his already elevated heart rate, it quickens slightly when he recognizes Ben and his father. Normally, he would wave a quick hello to anyone he passed on the street. This time, however, he doesn’t let himself examine his reasons too deeply as he slows his pace so that he and Juliet are barely jogging. He shifts his direction, guiding her onto the worn path into the park.

It only takes a moment for Dean to look up at the sound of their approach. There is a brief flash of recognition and then a smile lights up Dean’s face. Castiel doesn’t let himself think about the warmth that blossoms in his chest at Dean’s grin either.

“Heya, Cas!” Dean calls, and then turns to say something to Ben. The child turns with a smile that quickly turns to trepidation when he spots Juliet.

“Hello, Dean. Ben.” Castiel winds the leash back around his hand to bring Juliet closer. Ben is standing slightly behind his father now, seemingly torn between happiness at seeing Castiel and abject terror at Juliet.

Dean glances down and takes Ben’s hand. “He’s a little nervous around dogs. Had a bad experience once when he was little, almost got bit. Now he don’t want nothin’ to do with ‘em.”

Castiel nods, kneeling down beside the dog. Looking at Ben, he offers, “This is Juliet. She doesn’t bite. In fact, she really likes children.”

Ben’s lip quivers for a moment before he takes a deep breath. He tears his eyes away from the boxer to look at Castiel. “When is her birthday?”

Castiel smiles. He’s beginning to be able to predict what others would see as random questions from Ben. “March 2013. She’s two years old. She was only five months old when I got her. She weighs forty-six pounds. That is small for a boxer, but she is still growing.” He pauses to consider whether there are any other number-related facts he can give Ben.

Ben’s fingers are gently tapping one after another, but he moves slightly out from behind Dean. “She’s a pretty color. Like daddy’s hair.”

Castiel’s eyes dart to Dean, who chuckles. Castiel nods. “This color is called fawn, but yes, your father’s hair glows the same way in the sunlight.”

Castiel enjoys the way Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners at the compliment before a slight flush gives away his discomfort. “Geez, man, that’s, ah, yeah,” he lets off with an awkward laugh, “My hair was a lot lighter when I was little.”

“Would you like to pet her?” Castiel asks Ben, giving Dean a moment to recompose himself. He signals for Juliet to sit, placing a hand on the back of her neck.

Ben looks up at Dean, eyes wide, before taking a hesitant step forward. Trembling softly, he places his hand on the top of Juliet’s wide head. With Castiel’s hand as a guide, she sits perfectly still like a statue, which isn’t easy for the naturally exuberant dog.

Ben’s face lights up at the contact. As if sensing that the mood has shifted, Juliet leans forward to quickly drag her tongue up Ben’s cheek, giving a small wiggle of her backend. There is a moment of dread when Castiel thinks that Ben will panic, but the boy giggles and leans in to allow another long gooey lick.

Castiel laughs along with him, pulling Juliet back before she can go in for another taste. Ben is still giggling and the sound warms Castiel just as much as Dean’s welcoming grin did. “Those are kisses,” he tells Ben. “That means she likes you.”

“See, daddy!” Ben exclaims, “She likes me. Juliet is a good doggy.” He turns back to Castiel. “Can I walk her with her leash? Just to the trees and back? I promise. I’m a good walker. We’ll be best friends,” he pleads.

“She’s very well trained, she won’t pull at all,” Castiel says, angling a look at Dean as he rises. “But it’s up to your father.” Ben turns the weight of his gaze on his father.

Dean looks hesitant like he’s going to refuse, then chuckles. “Okay, you can quit with the puppy dog eyes. Uncle Sammy sure taught you that one, didn’t he? You can go to the trees and back. But you gotta listen to what Cas, uh, Mr. Novak tells you to do.”

Ben cheers and Juliet wiggles her whole body. Castiel hands Ben the end of the leash, explaining how to signal to Juliet if he wants her to slow down. He takes a few treats from his pocket and hands them to Ben. “Give her one now, one when you get to the trees and one when you come back."

The two men watch as boy and dog start a slow fifty-yard walk to the tree line. Dean turns to Castiel. “Wow, man, that was great. Haven’t been able to get him to even touch a dog. He just starts cryin’ and then he’s holdin’ onto me like a spider monkey.”

Castiel chuckles at the image. “Giving him the numbers helped. He feels more in control when he knows facts about something. Like that gives him power over the thing.”

Dean considers that for a moment. “Never thought of it that way. I mean, I tell him the numbers he wants to know if he asks, but I never thought of just givin’ them to him.”

Castiel shrugs. “It’s a lot of trial and error, Dean. Sometimes an answer will come to you and you’ll wonder why you never thought of it before. Other times, it will seem like nothing ever comes easily. How have things been going? He’s actually had several good weeks at school.”

A brief shadow passes behind Dean’s eyes. “It was good. I mean, things have been goin’ real good. Smooth, ya know? ‘Til today. I really screwed up, Cas.” Dean sighs deeply, then relates the events of the morning. “I just lost it, man. I really try not to yell, ‘cause I know it freaks him out, but I lost my shit. I even cursed at him. I always hated when my old man swore at us, but it was like all I could think about is how I work so hard and he just fucked it up and made more work for me. There’s always more work.”

Dean looks on the edge of tears, still watching where Ben and Juliet are sniffing around the trees in the distance before starting back. Castiel lays his hand on Dean’s arm to draw his attention back. He tries not to think too hard about why it is so easy for him to touch Dean this way, without his usual feelings of discomfort. “Don’t beat yourself up, Dean. It’s done, it’s over, and he has already forgiven and forgot about it. You’ll remember this in the future and you’ll stop and listen when he talks. It’s all you can do.”

Dean sniffles, just once, and runs his hand down over his face. “I’ll be surprised if the kid doesn’t hate me. I hated my dad for a long time, for the screwed up way he was when me and Sammy were kids.”

That’s a sentiment Castiel can relate to. Did he hate his father? There was certainly of part of him that did. He hated the way the elder Novak made him feel, the way he tore down everything that Castiel thought was good about himself. Yes, he understands hating one’s father, but he doesn’t say that. “He won’t hate you, Dean. From what you’ve said, as soon as you recognized your mistake, you admitted it and apologized to him. That’s an important lesson for Ben to learn. When your father lost his temper, did he apologize?”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, right. John Winchester didn’t apologize. If he lost it, it was pretty clear it was our fault.” He pauses, considers, then adds, “Not til later, anyway. He says he’s sorry, now, for the way things were, but definitely not when we were kids.”

“You see. Ben will learn that losing your temper is not his fault, and he will learn to apologize when he makes a mistake,” Castiel comments. “It makes you feel better when your father apologizes. It still matters no matter how many years later. You should cherish that. My father died before I got an apology.”

Dean’s eyes are sad now, sympathetic. “That sucks, man. Yeah, it doesn’t make up for the shit we went through as kids, but gettin’ to have this time with my dad is good. Good for Ben, too.”

Juliet’s excited barks interrupt Castiel’s response as she and Ben return from their walk. Ben is so excited about Juliet that he throws his arms around Dean’s legs and begs for a dog of his own. “Look what you did now,” Dean exclaims with a laugh.

Castiel takes Juliet’s leash back, promising to bring her back to play with Ben another day. Ben runs to the play structure, leaving Castiel alone with Dean, plotting. “Halloween is coming up. Have you thought about volunteering as a room parent for the parade? It might be nice for you to see how Ben gets along at school,” he throws out.

“Huh, well, I guess it’ll depend on whether I can get out of work. What time?”

“The parade isn’t until 1:30, but the parents start arriving at the school at 12:30 to help the teachers set up for the parties and assist with the children putting their costumes on. Even though Ben will be in his regular class, you’re welcome to spend some time in our room if you’re interested.” The last part isn’t really standard practice, but Castiel is sure he can work it out. Even though he’ll never hear the end of it from Meg.

“Yeah, cool. I’ll try to work it out with my boss and let you know.”

As much as Castiel would love to linger and talk to Dean longer, it is getting late and he still has a mile walk back to his house. He considers finishing his run, but now that his heart rate is down, he doesn’t really feel in the mood to continue. He and Juliet say goodbye to the Winchesters and start for home. If Castiel is looking forward to Halloween more than he was this morning, its no-one’s business but his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: In the second part of the chapter, Dean becomes angry at Ben and loses his temper. He yells and swears and there is a physical interaction in which he roughly pulls Ben down the hallway. There is no other physical violence. Ben is clearly upset. Dean does recognize his mistake and apologizes. If any of this is triggering for you, be safe. Let me know and I can give you a summary of the second section so that you can skip that part.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean has been to Woodlawn so many times in the past two months that he feels like he should have his own reserved parking space. Instead, he circles the lot and finds a space squeezed in with the other parents. Filtering into the line of volunteers waiting to get visitor badges, Dean notices that there are no other men. Feeling self-conscious, he doesn't realize the woman beside him is talking to him until she touches his arm.

“You must be a Kindergarten parent," she says with a friendly smile.

"What gave me away?"

“You look like you’re about to face a firing squad. It's not that bad, I promise. Whose class is your . . .” she pauses questioningly.

“Oh, ah, son. He’s in Miss Blake’s class, but he also goes with, ah, Mr. Novak.” He stumbles over the name. He's gotten so used to thinking of him as Cas.

“Oh, Miss Blake is a sweetheart. My oldest daughter had her," the woman gushes. "I don't really know Mr. Novak, though we’ve all seen him around, of course.”

A woman standing on the other side of them raises an eyebrow and chuckles mischievously. “Oh, yes, Nicole, we’ve all seen him around,” she teases. Dean smothers a grin. It’s like he’s walked right into the middle of an episode of Real Housewives of Lawrence. He wonders if Cas knows the mothers are stalking him.

Visitor badge pinned to the pocket of his flannel shirt, Dean makes his way to Ben’s classroom. The hallways are already filled with tiny ghouls, superheroes, and princesses milling around. There’s even an eleventh Doctor carrying a replica sonic screwdriver that lights up and makes noise. Dean makes a mental note to ask the kid where he got it.

The classroom is barely contained chaos; overrun by two dozen children in various stages of costuming. Just inside the door, Iron Man is struggling into his suit, so Dean stops to unhook his shoe from the bottom hem then ties the costume behind his neck. He makes his way across the room, adjusting tiaras, fixing masks, and taking a few practice swings with Darth Vadar's lightsaber as he goes.

Spinning around and executing a perfect block on the young Jedi facing him, Dean finds himself face-to-face with the black haired woman who was in Ben's meeting with Cas. She's wearing a smirk, one eyebrow cocked as she watches him hand the lightsaber back sheepishly. “Uh, Meg, right?” he says, giving her and the diminutive soldier next to her a military salute.

She just rolls her eyes, turning away just as Dean catches a grin tug at the corners of her mouth. “Ben's in the bathroom. We're having some issues with his costume. I was about to call Castiel when I saw you defending the galaxy over there.”

Dean frowns. “What's the problem? He seemed real gung-ho in the store.” Dean and Ben had sorted through dozens of costumes in three different stores before Ben settled on Boba Fett.

“He put on the suit, but he's complaining that it pinches his ankles, and he doesn't want to wear the helmet because it hits his ears. Did you even try it on him?”

Dean balks at her implied criticism. “Sure I did,” he snaps defensively, “He put it on in Target.” Just then, Ben walks back into the room with an elderly woman. He's tugging at the side of the polyester suit and carrying Boba Fett's mask. He looks two seconds away from a meltdown.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean says, kneeling in from of him. “Ms. Master's says you don't like your costume.”

“It grabs my ankles too tight and makes them itch when I walk,” Ben complains, tugging at the suit again. “And this helmet is stupid. Jake has a helmet that goes all the way around, but mine is junk. It only goes on your face. That's not how a helmet goes.”

“The legs didn't itch when you put it on before,” Dean tries. “What's different?”

Ben's lip starts to quiver and he throws the helmet at his feet. “It’s stupid and I don't want to wear it anymore. Costumes are for babies anyway. Halloween is stupid and I don't want to walk in any stupid parade anyway.”

Dean retrieves the mask, struggling to stay calm. He's aware that some of the other children and the room mothers are looking at them now. He wonders how many times these kids have watched Ben flip out about stupid shit. “Grandma Ellen is gonna be outside to watch you in the parade. She's gonna be real sad if she doesn't get to see you in your costume.”

“I don't care!” Ben yells, beginning to pull the costume off. “This is stupid and you're stupid and Halloween is stupid! I don't want to do this stupid parade anymore. Stupid babies dress up for stupid parades.”

Dean looks up to Meg for help. She's holding the walkie-talkie she'd been wearing on her belt to her cheek, obviously calling for back-up. Dean tries to stop Ben from ripping the costume as he tears it off, but he can't stop him from taking it off without starting a full-out tussle in the classroom.

There's movement to Dean's left and he turns to see Cas kneeling beside him. He murmurs something to Ben that Dean can’t hear and Ben nods, calming immediately. He still looks mutinous, but at least he isn't screaming anymore.

As both men rise, Cas takes the mask and costume from Dean, giving him a sympathetic look. “We are going to my classroom. There are fewer children, so there will be less activity. It might be easier for Ben there.”

Dean nods. He doesn’t really understand how fewer children will make Ben any happier with his costume, but he follows Cas and Ben out of the classroom anyway. Dean trails them down the hallway, feeling a little like an outsider with his own kid. Clearly Cas knows some kind of trick because Dean has never seen Ben go from full-out screaming to calm so quickly.

They enter the classroom where Dean picked Ben up on the first day of school. There are only a handful of children, along with three women, in the room. Dean vaguely remembers being introduced to Becky, the helper in the classroom, but the other two must be parents. Two of the children aren't wearing costumes at all, but the rest are dressed in the same kinds of costumes as the children in the other class. Dean isn't sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't for the kids to look so normal.

Cas is kneeling beside Ben again. He's looking at Ben's ankles and then stretching the bottoms of the costume legs. “Does Ben sometimes wear socks that are longer? I mean, that go up farther on his legs?”

“Yeah,” Dean responds. “He's got some for his boots and when it snows.”

“Was he perhaps wearing those longer socks when he tried the costume on?” Cas asks, still holding the costume.

Dean thinks back to the day they went shopping and realizes that Cas is right. He was wearing different socks. “Crap, yeah, he had on the long socks 'cause he was wearin' his hikers that day. I didn’t even think.”

“I believe I have some extra socks that might work,” Cas says. “We like to keep extra clothes in the classroom in case there are accidents.”

Dean watches Cas approach one of the mothers. She nods, glancing over to Ben and Dean with a friendly smile. Cas goes to the shelves at the back of the room and returns with a pair of socks. “Ben, Justin is going to let you borrow his socks so that your ankles aren't itchy. Let's get your suit on and you can go say thank you.”

To Dean's surprise, Ben allows Cas to change his socks, then compliantly pulls up the costume. Without prompting, Ben crosses the room and sits down next to a blond haired boy at the table. Cas turns to Dean. “We'll give him a few minutes, then try the mask. It’s best not to push too hard at once.”

Dean thinks about that. He's always done the opposite. Once he gets Ben over one hurdle, he's more likely to keep shoving him forward to get it all done before Ben decides to dig his heels in again. “Hey, can I ask, I mean, why’d you say it would be easier for him in here ‘cause there was less kids?” he asks, remembering his earlier confusion.

Cas tilts his head to the side in that way that Dean has come to understand means he’s considering the question, squinting slightly in thought. Dean shoves away the errant thought that he looks damned adorable like that. “Children who have autism are often easily overstimulated. They find it hard to calm down when they are in large groups or in situations when there is a high level of activity. Their brains can’t process everything at once.”

“That makes sense, I guess. He tends to freak out more when there’s a bunch of people around. I always figured he was just puttin’ on a show for them ‘cause he figured I wouldn’t yell at him,” Dean admits.

Cas nods, his eyes flicking across the room to Ben, then down. Dean follows his gaze and sees that he’s playing with one of those rubber bands on his wrist that he has been wearing the past few times Dean has seen him. The band is purple today. When he realizes that Dean is watching him, he clears his throat, drawing Dean’s attention away from the edges of inked lines he can see peeking out of the shirt sleeve. “While Ben is still a child regardless of the Asperger’s, it is more likely that his meltdowns in those groups are because he becomes overstimulate by interacting with numerous people at once.” 

Dean files away that information. There’s so much to learn, Dean can’t help but feel like he’ll never understand his own kid as well as Cas does.

The next twenty minutes go much smoother. Dean is introduced to the other parents and pitches in helping them prepare the group. Ben seems more relaxed here than he was in the other classroom. He talks to the other children, even though Dean soon realizes that several of them don’t talk at all. Cas even convinces Ben to wear the costume mask with almost no fuss.

As Cas and Becky organize the children with a sign that identifies their classroom for the parade, one of the mothers comes to stand next to Dean. “He’s great with them, isn’t he?” Candace observes.

“Yeah,” Dean concedes. “Makes me feel like I don’t even know my own kid.” He flushes then, realizing how ungrateful that sounds. “I mean, ah . . . ”

She just nods. “We all feel like that sometimes. Especially at first. My son has been in Castiel’s class for two years and we’ve both learned so much from him.”

“Is it always gonna be this hard?” Dean asks, watching Ben line up with the blond haired boy whose socks he is wearing.

“I could tell you it gets easier, but I’m not sure it does,” she says with a small laugh. “I think we just get better at handling it.”

Overhearing them talking, Jolene joins them with a nod. “Oh, definitely. Allie isn’t as rigid as she used to be, but we still have our days. I’ve just learned how to stay calm and not make it worse.”

“I lose my temper sometimes,” Dean admits, feeling guilty. These women seem to have it so much more together than he does. He wonders again how Lisa would react to all of this.

To his surprise, the women don’t seem shocked. Instead Jolene just nods again. “We all do, Dean. Everything is so much _more_ with these kids. No matter how good our day is going, it seems like there is always something that sets her off.”

Candace is nodding too. “I got so angry at Justin yesterday. I really snapped and yelled at him before I got myself together. He took all the eggs out of the fridge and put them under the radiator because he said he wanted to see them hatch.” She chuckles along with Dean and Jolene. “Oh, it’s funny now, but three dozen spoiled eggs didn’t seem all that comical yesterday.”

Cas catches their attention and the five adults spread out through the group of children. To Dean’s relief, the parade goes off without a hitch. Ben waves at Ellen, who is video-recording the parade for the rest of the family and Dean shoots her a wry smile. Once they herd the kids back to the classroom, it's games and cupcakes while _It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown_ plays in the background. Cas even convinces Ben to go back to his regular classroom to spend time with his friends there for the last part of the day.

Driving home from the school with Ben chattering in back seat, Dean realizes that this was the most fun he’s had in a long time. He feels better after talking to the other parents. Jolene and Candace both encouraged him to bring Ben to the group Cas runs on Wednesdays. If today was an example of how that goes, Dean figures it might not be too bad.

* * *

* * *

Children’s laughter mixes with the spooky music creaking and screaming from the speakers Castiel set up in his front yard. A gust of wind makes the skeleton hanging in the tree near the street dance with ghastly glee and the candles in a dozen jack o’lanterns flicker. Thanks to the smoke machine hidden under a shrub, a blanket of ghostly fog creeps across the lawn.

Castiel surveys the tombstones, spider webs, and glowing witch’s brew and wonders if maybe he went a little overboard this year. Halloween has always been one of his favorite holidays, thanks to his older brother. His father may have thought the tradition was silly, but Gabriel took to celebrating Halloween like a sacred calling. Theodore Novak hadn’t been able to shut it down, even after Gabriel became a teenager and innocent costumes and candy turned into prank wars and running from the police.

Castiel dumps three bags of miniature candy bars into a plastic cauldron before checking his reflection in the mirror beside the door. He almost doesn’t recognize himself with his hair slicked back and parted on the side, but it fits with his dark suit and suspenders. A tommy gun waits against the chair set up in the driveway. Castiel spins his fedora on his fingertips before settling it back on his head at an angle.

Juliet lets out a soft whine as he pushes the front door open. She’s wearing a purple cape with gold and silver stars and a pointed hat held on with elastic. Although it seems silly, she appears to enjoy joining the festivities. Seeing the children covering the sidewalks in front of the house, she gives a happy wiggle and follows Castiel outside.

Ghosts, werewolves, superheroes, and a dozen different Disney princesses make their way through his yard. Some of the children he recognizes from school, including a few of his own students. He chats with the parents and tries to guess each costume in turn. By the end of the first hour the cauldron is starting to run low on candy, so he heads back into the house to grab the rest of the bags. Once this candy is gone he’ll have to turn the porch lights off. He hopes that he has enough to make it through the second hour of trick-or-treating.

When Castiel comes back out of the house, a familiar Star Wars character is making his way up the driveway. Instead of the handsome man Castiel expects, there is a pretty blonde woman dressed in scrubs holding his hand. Juliet sits calmly next to his chair, but she begins to wiggle when the boy yells out, “Juliet! Mr. Novak! Trick-or-treat!”

“And who is this bounty hunter? Come to bring me to justice?” Castiel calls out with a laugh, ripping open one of the bags in his hand.

Ben pulls the mask up. “It’s me, Mr. Novak, Ben. It’s Halloween!” he explains with a frown, causing the blond woman to chuckle.

“Why, yes it is!” Castiel exclaims in mock surprise, dropping some candy into the plastic pumpkin Ben carries. Turning to the woman, he explains, “Ben is in my class at Woodlawn.”

“Oh, trust me, we all know who you are, Mr. Novak. Ben doesn’t stop talking about you,” she responds, turning to look down the street. Castiel follows her gaze and there is Dean. He’s walking with a tall man dressed as a pirate whose long hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. Dean isn’t wearing a costume that he can tell, but Castiel can’t help but admire the man’s regular attire of well-worn jeans and a black t-shirt under an olive green military style jacket. “Look who we found, Dean,” she calls out. “A regular celebrity living right here in Lawrence.” She turns and gives Castiel a conspiratorial wink.

Ben has dropped to his knees in front of Juliet. He’s murmuring softly to her as the dog licks his face, drawing out a spate of giggles. As Dean and the other man make their way up the driveway, the woman turns a shocked stare on Castiel. “How did you do that?” she exclaims. “Ben has been terrified of dogs forever!”

“He’s a regular miracle worker,” Dean offers, then turns to Castiel. “Heya, Cas. Didn’t know you lived around here.”

Castiel struggles to keep up with the conversation, glancing between them. “Oh, yes, ah, I’ve lived here for several years.”

Dean studies the front of the house, taking in the yard and the three car garage, and lets out a low whistle that causes inappropriate butterflies to take up residence in Castiel’s stomach. “Nice place. Got family that live just up around the corner. Bobby Singer and Ellen Harvelle?”

“I don’t know them, but then again, I don’t really know any of my neighbors.”

“Huh,” Dean says as if not knowing one’s neighbors is a situation that has never occurred to him before. “Well, anyway, this sexy nurse is my sister-in-law, Jess, and that giant pirate dork is my brother, Sam. They’ll try and tell you they came out with us for Ben, but really they just wanted an excuse to dress up and steal Ben's candy,” Dean jokes, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Jess.

Castiel doesn’t think that Jess’ scrubs are particularly sexy, nor his brother particularly dorky, so he settles on, “It’s nice to meet you both.” He turns to Dean. “Not everyone who dresses up for Halloween is a dork.”

Dean, Sam, and Jess laugh, and Sam claps Dean on the back. “Okay, okay. I was thinkin’ about doing a James Dean thing, but I got shot down as too clichéd. You got a cool gangster thing goin’ on, though.”

Castiel tips his fedora forward with two fingertips and flips the tommy gun up to his hip with his foot. “There are many things my father taught me here in this room. He taught me: keep your friends close, but your enemies closer,” he intones.

“Whoa, Michael Corleone. Awesome!” Dean responds and Castiel is inexplicably pleased that he got the Godfather reference right away. “Man, I haven’t watched those movies in forever. We should do a marathon next weekend, Sammy.”

“Count me out, Dean,” Sam says, shaking his head.

“We have tickets to a show in Kansas City,” Jess explains.

Dean turns a pouty face on them. “Aww, crap. Guess I’ll see if Benny and Garth want to come over. Maybe Charlie, too. Haven’t seen her in ages.”

Remembering that Charlie said that she went to school with Dean, Castiel asks, “Charlie Bradbury?”

Dean looks confused at first and then his face brightens. “Oh, yeah, I forgot she teaches at the school so you probably know her. Charlie and I go way back.” Then, as if the thought just occurred to him, he adds, “Hey, man, you should come over, too, since you know Charlie and everything. I mean, if that’s allowed, bein’ that you’re Ben’s teacher.”

“There are no rules against socializing with the parents of students,” Castiel responds, trying to quell the butterflies that are now trying to escape his stomach through his mouth. He can hardly believe that Dean is inviting him to spend time with him and his friends. Thankfully, more children come up the walk just then and Castiel is saved from answering immediately while he doles out candy.

“We’re going to keep going with Ben,” Jess says suddenly as the crowd of children fade away. “Why don’t you catch up?” Castiel sees the look that passes between her and Dean, but he isn’t sure how to interpret it.

“Yeah, I’ll just be a sec. I’ll catch you by the end of the block.” The two men watch Sam and Jess walk towards the next house with Ben before Dean turns back to Castiel. “I mean it. You should come hang out with us. Haven’t done a good ol’ movie day in a while. Unless, I mean, unless you got plans or something,” Dean adds as if it is just occurring to him that perhaps Castiel wouldn’t want to spend time with him.

Castiel is quick to reassure him. “No, I, ah, that sounds like fun. I admit that it’s been several years since I watched the movies, but I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with your friends.”

“Nah, man, the more the merrier and all that shit,” Dean says with a laugh. “We’ll grab a pizza and some beers. Make a real party of it.” He looks down the street to where Ben is getting candy from the last house on the block. “I better get going, but tell ya what, I was gonna come to that parent night or whatever at the school on Wednesday with Ben, so we can talk more about it then?”

“That would be, yes, I think you and Ben would enjoy the group. We can certainly discuss it further then.” Castiel grips the tommy gun tighter.

“Awesome,” Dean exclaims. “Cool then, I’ll, uh, guess I’ll see you on Wednesday then.” Before Castiel can respond, he turns and jogs down the driveway. Castiel watches him until he catches up with his family and they turn the corner to the next block.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of ghouls and cartoon characters, but Castiel is distracted from the joy he usually finds in the holiday by replaying the encounter with the Winchesters over and over. The last of the candy is passed out just before nine and Castiel moves the chair back into the garage before returning to the house and turning off the porch light.

Making his way to his studio, Castiel strips off the gangster suit and hangs it up in the closet, placing the fedora on the shelf. Changed into soft pajamas, he lights a candle and the incense on the altar. He selects Blur’s _Best of_ album from his collection and starts his yoga practice, but he can’t seem to settle. Every time he closes he eyes, he sees freckles, vibrant green eyes, and the way Dean’s grin creates tiny laugh lines around his eyes but makes him look like a like a mischievous child at the same time.

If Meg and Balthazar discover the crush he is apparently developing on Ben’s father, he will never hear the end of it. After realizing for the third time that he has dropped out of pose to stare blankly at the wall, Castiel gives up and falls onto his back on the mat. He’d say that he feels like a teenager mooning over a crush, but he never experienced anything like this as an adolescent. Before Michael, Castiel often wondered if he was completely asexual.

Castiel stares at the ceiling; wondering what it is about Dean that attracts him so much. After another lackluster date with Jacob the previous weekend, Castiel accepts that there is no spark between them; certainly nothing like the attraction he feels when he is around Dean.

Sighing deeply, Castiel reluctantly recalls the pretty petite blond who accompanied Dean to the meeting at school. Apparently the Winchester brothers have a type, as Jess reminds Castiel quite a bit of Jo. Remembering the way Jess elbowed Dean in much the same way Jo had, Castiel assumes the Winchester men like their women with some attitude.

Wondering idly why Dean’s girlfriend wasn’t with them tonight, Castiel finally gives up and sets about putting the studio to right before heading upstairs. If he was smart, Castiel would give Dean Winchester a wide berth. No good has ever come from harboring a crush on a straight man. But he’s looking forward to Wednesday already, so Castiel knows that he’s not nearly smart enough for his own good.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys finally get to spend some time together.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has left comments or kudos. You're the best.

Ben is singing along with the radio from the backseat. Considering that he’s been hearing _Stairway to Heaven_ since he was a baby, it’s not surprising that he knows every word. Dean hums the tune as he pulls into the school parking lot. It’s not so much that he’s nervous, just that he isn’t sure what to expect tonight. Some kind of project for Ben, while he meets with the other parents. Can’t be too hard, right?

It wouldn’t be so bad, except Dean has been on edge all day. He woke up with a hard-on to the last wisps of a dream he couldn’t quite recall, and the day just went downhill after that. The video Ash sent last night provided plenty of fodder for relief in the shower this morning, but as he stroked himself to release an errant thought of crystal blue eyes and a gruffly sexy voice took over. No matter how helpful and friendly Cas seems to be, Dean is pretty sure that jerking off while fantasizing about his son’s teacher is a big no-no.

 _Pull your shit together,_ Dean tells himself while helping Ben out of the car. He’s just horny, that’s all. It’s been over a month since he picked up that red-haired chick at the Roadhouse. Alex? Annie? Abby? Something like that. Dean shakes his head. She’d been a good time and they both walked away satisfied, but Dean hates the feeling that something is missing. He’s never really been one for picking up guys at the bar, but he’ll admit that its hard lines and stubble he’s craving over curves and soft skin. Maybe he’s just missing Ash more than usual. Only two more months until he’ll be home for Christmas.

Dean squashes the little voice telling him that waiting around for Ash is stupid. It sounds suspiciously like Sammy. He’s not waiting around. It’s not like he sits around pining over the guy, but if he happens to be available when Ash is back in town, no one can fault him for taking advantage of it. It’s not hurting anyone.

There are already over a dozen kids and adults milling around Cas’ room when Dean and Ben walk through the door. Meg is messing with the computers in the back of the room, a mob of children pressing in around her. The other adults, all women except for Cas, are mingling where a bunch of chairs are set up around two tables in the opposite corner. Feeling immediately self-conscious, Dean almost turns around and leaves the way he came. If he didn’t know it would trigger a meltdown in Ben, he’d already be gone.

Cas must be able to read the panic on Dean’s face because he immediately excuses himself from the group and approaches Dean before he can bolt. He extends his hand and Dean grabs it like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. “Dean, Ben, it’s so nice that you could make it. If you want to head back to the computers, Ben, Ms. Masters is setting up Minecraft. I believe she has a special project for you today.”

Ben bounces away to the back of the room. “Relax, Dean,” Cas murmurs, releasing his hand, but continuing to stand closer than would normally be considered acceptable. “It’s not a firing squad, just a few mothers.”

“Mothers, see, that’s it, man. I’m not cut out for this. Lisa should be here,” Dean blurts out, aware that he’s rambling but unable to stop himself.

Cas’ expression softens, blue eyes sympathetic. He tilts his head to one side, squinting slightly as he studies Dean. Dean’s attention is drawn downward by a small movement that turns out to be Cas snapping a yellow band on his wrist. “I’m sure it’s hard to raise Ben without his mother, but you’re doing a wonderful job. Ben is a lovely little boy.”

Dean nods slightly, distracted by the snapping. “Uh, Cas, what’s with the rubber band? You’ve always got one on.”

Cas steps back, flushing and drops both arms to his sides awkwardly. “It’s just, it’s a thing I do to help—”

“Hey, it’s okay, sorry if it’s personal or something.” 

“No, it's fine,” Cas concedes, rubbing the band with his fingers. “It’s something I do to help me focus, a self-help technique. You identify a habit you want to break or a behavior you want to become more conscious of and then you snap the band when you catch yourself doing that behavior. The theory is that the physical sensation will create a reaction in your mind that makes you more self-aware.”

“Huh. Does it work?”

“I like to think so.”

Dean reaches out and touches the band gently. Dropping his voice slightly, he whispers flirtatiously, “So what’s the habit you snapped for just now?”

Cas looks away awkwardly, a slight blush reddening his cheeks. He looks adorable when he’s flustered and like a brat, Dean wants to keep doing things to bring that look to Cas’ eyes. “Well, it’s just, there are thoughts sometimes, things that pop into my head,” Cas stutters, taking a step away from Dean.

“It’s personal, Cas, you don’t have to tell me. Just tell me I’m being an ass for asking." He wants to take a step forward, to put himself back in Cas’ personal space, but he doesn’t. Another woman and little girl come to the door and Dean motions toward them. He glances across the room, seeing the two mothers he met at the Halloween parade. “Go do the host thing. I’m gonna go say hi to Candace and Jolene.”

The two women have taken seats at the table and motion for Dean to join them. Still a little self-conscious, he pulls a chair to the end of the table so that he’s sitting between them. “It’s great that you decided to come,” Candace says in greeting. “These groups are really nice for the kids and it’s good to get out and talk to other people who don’t look at you like you have three heads when you describe the crazy things your kid does.”

Jolene nods in agreement. “Having a dad here is great, too. I’ve tried, but my husband just has no interest in coming. It’s wonderful that you’re taking the time to do these events with your son. Your wife must be so grateful to not have to handle everything. More men should be like you.”

“Oh, uh, no wife,” Dean offers awkwardly, his discomfort growing. “Ben’s mother died when he was two.”

“Oh my god, I’m such an idiot!” Jolene exclaims, clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have just assumed.”

“It’s okay, really. It’s been just me and Ben for a long time. We do okay.”

“Well, as another single parent, I know how hard it can be to get out and do things like this,” Candace responds. “Nothing so tragic for us. Justin’s father decided that Justin’s behavior was too much for him and he’d rather live with his secretary. He used to do visitation, but he decided that was too much trouble too.”

“Ouch, that’s harsh. I can’t imagine not seeing Ben at all. No offense but your ex sounds like a douche.”

Candace lets out a tight laugh. “Oh, he certainly is, but I think Justin and I are better off without him.”

It isn’t long before Cas calls the meeting to order. Each parent introduces themselves and gives a little information about their child. Some of them share a funny anecdote about something their child did this week. When it gets to Dean’s turn, he gives only his and Ben’s names and tells the group that Ben is in kindergarten. He adds that Ben was just diagnosed in September. No one looks at him any differently, he notices. No one is shocked or confused. It feels weird to be able to say that his son has Asperger’s and not have to explain it. It took weeks of conversations with his own family and he’s still not convinced that they understand. Hell, Dean’s not even sure that _he_ understands.

The next hour passes quickly as the group discusses what Cas calls comfort items. Dean glances back to where Benson sits on the table next to the computer Ben is using. He notices that several of the other children have stuffed toys, IPods, or small figurines. Ben fits right in with them. Dean even finds himself sharing a little, asking how the other parents handle it when the item needs to be washed. Benson can get pretty filthy after being dragged around for weeks and every time he goes into the wash there is a meltdown until Ben gets him back. Dean is happy that by the end of the meeting he has a few suggestions to try.

The discussion part of the meeting ends and Cas explains that there is a thirty-minute social time until the children are done with their activity. Dean wants to walk back to see what Ben is doing, but Cas admonishes everyone to leave the children in peace. “There will be a few minutes set aside at the end for the children to show off their creations,” Cas assures them.

Dean finds himself drawn back into conversation with Jolene and Candace, who introduce him to the other mothers. The adults eventually split off into small groups to socialize, but Dean is only half paying attention to a story Candace is telling about Justin’s first Little League game because he’s watching Cas move from cluster to cluster. He spends a few minutes with each group, laughing at stories or giving advice. His smile is wide and inviting. Dean watches Cas long enough to notice that every time one of the mothers moves toward him, he backs away until he is just out of arms reach, always keeping just a bit more than normal personal space between himself and the women. Curious.

“You should volunteer for the Secret Santa day,” Candace is saying, pulling Dean’s attention back to her. Her hand is resting on Dean’s forearm though he was so caught up in Cas that he didn’t register her touching him. “Jolene and I are volunteering. We’d love to have you there.”

Dean forces himself to focus on the conversation in front of him. Between the way Candace keeps touching him and her flirtatious laugh, it doesn’t take long for Dean to realize that she’s coming on to him. She’s attractive enough, with her big brown eyes and pixie haircut. She’s a bit younger than Dean, he guesses, though her son is two years older than Ben. She must have gotten married and had Justin right out of high school. Dean wonders if that has anything do with why her ex is living with his secretary.

Despite her attempts to draw him in, he keeps the conversation friendly and light. Dean loves to flirt as much as anyone, but he doesn’t want to lead the woman on and make things awkward. If Dean and Ben want to be a regular part of this group, messing around with one of the other parents is a bad way to start. Candace comments for the second time that Justin and Ben should get together for a play date and Dean almost sighs when she puts her hand back on his arm again. She has leaned closer now, her voice low and breathy. When Cas finally calls the end of the meeting, Dean is glad he didn’t have to make things uncomfortable by openly shooting her down.

Meg calls the parents back to the computers for the children to present their projects. Dean isn’t shocked at all to see that Ben has built an elaborate spaceship in the middle of a desert. What he is a little surprised at is the intricate flower gardens, complete with irrigation system, that surround the spaceship. Ben and Justin explain to Dean and Candace how they worked together to create their Spaceship Garden, but Dean doesn’t really understand any of it. He wonders absently if a computer would be a good Christmas present for Ben.

Cas says goodbye to each of the parents and children as they pack to leave. Dean rises from a crouch after helping Ben with his zipper to find Cas standing right beside him, close enough that Dean’s arm brushes his as he reaches out for the table to balance himself. Dean is definitely not as flexible as he used to be.

“I’m glad you came, Dean,” Cas says. Dean tries to ignore when Cas snaps the rubber band again, but his attention is drawn to it now that he’s noticed it. Cas shoves both hands behind his bank when he realizes where Dean is looking.

“Me too. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

Cas laughs, his throaty chuckle doing uncomfortable things to Dean’s resolve to keep things purely friendly. “That is a glowing endorsement, Dean. ‘It’s not as bad as you think.’ We should put that on a brochure.”

Dean gives a self-deprecating chuckle. “Come on, man, you know what I mean. It figured it wouldn’t be my thing, but it was actually pretty cool to talk to the other parents. We’ll definitely be back when I can get off work in time.”

“I’m very happy to hear that.” He lays his hand gently on Dean’s arm, smiling broadly. When Cas smiles widely, his eyes crinkle up and a little furrow grows between his eyebrows. It makes Dean want to figure out how to make him smile like that more often.

Dean turns to round up Ben when he remembers. “Hey, don’t forget. This Saturday we’re doin’ the Godfather marathon. You’re still comin’ right?”

Cas stares at him for a few moments. Dean is beginning to wonder if the man is having a stroke, when he shakes his head as if to clear it and answers, “Oh, I, yes, of course. It sounds lovely.”

Dean snickers. “Charlie’s coming, so between her and Benny and Garth, lovely is probably not the word for it. Maybe we’ll invite Jo too and really make it divine.”

Cas flinches a little and pulls away. Dean can’t quite figure out what he said to make Cas react like that. He pauses, waiting for Cas to offer an explanation, but none comes. “Anyway,” Dean continues, “I’ll text you the address later. Probably gonna to be around four, but I’ll let you know for sure.”

“Yes, of course, that would be fine.” There’s a stiffness to Cas now that wasn’t there the rest of the evening. Dean is even more curious about what brought about the change.

Dean pulls Ben away from his friends and how awesome is it that Ben has friends? Dean is smiling when he and Ben leave the classroom. He glances back to wave goodbye to Cas, but Meg is standing beside him, her arm tucked in his. She’s saying something to him that Dean is too far away to hear, but it’s definitely upsetting Cas. She snags his wrist and snaps the yellow band twice, but Cas just rolls his eyes and gives her an unimpressed look. They remind Dean of an old married couple.

Wait.

Is Cas involved with his co-teacher? Damn, Dean hadn’t even realized it before. Even though he already chastised himself for fantasizing about Cas this morning, he gives himself another mental kick. Not only is he Ben’s teacher and most likely straight, he’s involved with Ben’s _other_ teacher. _Nice job, Winchester_ , he thinks as he buckles Ben in the car. _You sure know how to pick ‘em._

* * *

* * *

Although the driveway is empty, Castiel parks the Camaro along the street in front of the address Dean gave him. He pulls the keys from the ignition and turns to look at the house. Unlike his house, this one looks like it is an organic part of the neighborhood. It’s small but obviously well cared for, with freshly painted shutters and simple flower beds around the porch. 

Castiel juggles the keys in one hand as he stares at the house, seriously thinking about texting Dean and telling him that he can’t make it. He’s been engulfed in a fit of nerves since he received Dean’s text at lunchtime on Thursday. While he desperately wants to fit in with Dean and his friends, he’s worried that he’s doing this for all the wrong reasons. He can tell himself that his interest is purely platonic all he wants, but the truth is that he can’t seem to stop thinking about Dean.

Glancing up at the house again, Castiel sees the curtains in the front window twitch back into place. His chance to escape has passed, since Dean has more than likely noticed him sitting in the car like a stalker. Taking a deep, calming breath, Castiel grabs the brown paper shopping bag from the seat next to him and climbs out. He walks around the back of the car, self-consciously tugging on the sleeves of the slate gray Henley he traded for his usual button-down. The cuffs easily hide the lines of the tattoos on his wrists.

Halfway up the walk, the front door opens, confirming Castiel’s suspicion that Dean saw him arrive. Dean steps out on the porch, his smile welcoming. “Heya, Cas,” he calls. “You coulda parked in the driveway.”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel responds, climbing the stairs to the porch. “I wasn’t sure how many people you had coming and I didn’t want to be presumptuous.” Dean steps back, allowing Castiel to follow him into the house.

Dean chuckles as he pulls the door shut behind them. “You can pretty much presume you get dibs on the good parking spaces when you’re the first one here. Charlie’s on her way, but Garth has to work and Benny’s got something going on with the family.”

“That’s too bad,” Castiel murmurs, following Dean through the living room into the kitchen and trying not to think too hard about being alone in the house with Dean. The interior is homey but uncluttered despite Ben’s obvious presence. The little boy may be staying with Dean’s family today, but he has left his mark on the house. A pile of astronomy books is stacked on the coffee table and drawings and coloring pages cover the refrigerator.

Castiel puts the bag down on the counter and pulls out two six-packs of Copperhead Pale Ale from a small microbrewery in Lawrence. “My contribution,” he says, passing them to Dean.

“Awesome, man,” Dean responds with a grin. “I had their Stormchaser last year and I’ve been wanting to try some of their others.” He pulls two bottles out of the paper container before putting the others in the fridge then motions toward Castiel with one.

Castiel shakes his head slightly. “Those are for you. I don’t, well, I don’t drink anymore,” he explains, the _anymore_ and his tone making it clear that his abstinence is more than a dislike of alcohol. He holds up a Ziploc bag of tea bags and adds, “Some water for my tea would be appreciated, though.”

Dean blinks and Castiel waits for the inevitable questions. Instead, Dean just nods and pulls a mug from the cabinet. Castiel waits for him to fill it with water and put it in the microwave. “Most people have a lot more to say,” he shares.

Dean shrugs and turns away to watch the numbers on the microwave count down. “My dad is a recovering alcoholic so, ah, I get it. Not a big deal.” The microwave beeps and Dean pulls the mug out and sets it on the counter. He shrugs again, a little more awkwardly this time. “It’s just that, well—”

“Just what?” Castiel asks, taking the mug and dropping a tea bag into the water. He swirls the bag in the water while he waits for Dean to answer.

“You just don’t seem the type, I guess. You know, the kind of guy to have a problem holding his liquor,” Dean finally admits sheepishly.

Castiel watches the pale brown streams spread outward from the tea bag while he considers his response. “The journey is different for everyone, Dean, and we’re all at different places on it. We don’t really know each other well enough for you to understand that part of my life.” He doesn’t mean for his words to be chastising, but Dean stiffens so he obviously takes them that way. Castiel catches his eye and holds his gaze steadily. “I would, however, like for us to get to know each other better,” he offers sincerely.

Dean holds his gaze a moment longer, before glancing away. Castiel doesn’t know if he’s misinterpreting the look he sees flicker in Dean’s eyes, but he wants to pursue it. Before he can comment, though, the oven beeps and Dean turns to pull out a pan filled with bacon wrapped mini-hotdogs. “You gotta try these, man. I made queso and popcorn too,” Dean says, blowing on one of the hotdogs before popping it into his mouth with a grin.

For the next several minutes, Castiel and Dean work in silence transferring food to serving dishes and carrying them to the living room. Dean takes a box set of The Godfather trilogy from the shelf next to the large flat screen television and loads up the first movie while Castiel retrieves his tea from the kitchen and chooses a seat on the far end of the couch. He tries not to think about where Dean might sit, on the couch or in the comfortable looking recliner.

Dean pops the cap off another bottle of beer, grabs the remote control from the entertainment stand, and drops onto the couch. As Dean navigates through the disc’s menus, Castiel tries to concentrate on his tea, the cars passing on the street, and the photographs of Ben and Dean scattered around the room. Anything to not think about Dean sprawled on the couch less than two feet away from him.

The sound of a door slamming in the driveway saves him. Before Dean can get across the room, Charlie bursts through the door in a riot of color carrying a pie and a six-pack of hard lemonade. “The party can start, your queen has arrived,” she announces haughtily. She puts her offerings on the table by the door just before Dean sweeps her up in a hug, spinning her around. When Dean puts her down, Castiel can see that her bright purple shirt sports the words _Grrr, argh._ He knows better than to ask her what it means. The last time he admitted that he didn’t understand one of her references, he was trapped in the staff lounge for twenty minutes while she debated the intricacies of something called Skyrim with herself.

“You know Cas, right?” Dean says, directing her to pick a seat while he put the six-pack in the fridge.

Charlie chooses the overstuffed recliner sitting diagonal to the television, leaving the couch open for Dean again. “Of course. Castiel and I go way back,” she says, giving Castiel a wink. “Where are your other losers?”

“Benny had family shit to do and Garth got called into work,” Dean explains, sliding closer to Castiel on the couch so that he can offer him a scoop of popcorn from the bowl. Once Castiel takes a handful of the snack, Dean doesn’t move away. Instead, he slouches against the back of the couch, his own plate full of snacks resting in his lap. Castiel is enjoying his proximity until he adds, “Jo’s on at the Roadhouse ‘til five-thirty, but she’s gonna grab a pizza on her way over. I figured we’d be sick of snacks and want some real food by then.”

Charlie is mocking Dean’s contention that pizza is real food, but Castiel isn’t really listening. The food sits heavy in his stomach, making him queasy. He should have remembered Dean’s girlfriend would be coming to the get-together. Dean has a girlfriend and Castiel was awkwardly flirting with him not ten minutes ago in the kitchen.  He's mortified and angry with himself. Regardless of his attraction to Dean, he does not want to be the kind of person who flirts with people who are spoken for.

Castiel flinches when a warm, broad hand squeezes his thigh. “Hey, man. Where’d you go? You okay? You were spacy there for a second,” Dean asks, concern in his deep green eyes. His hand is still on Castiel’s leg, the heat from it seeping through the jeans to skin.

Castiel nods and shifts uncomfortably, causing Dean to pull his hand away as if he hadn’t realized he was still gripping Castiel’s leg. “I’m fine, Dean. Just distracted a little, I guess,” he reassures him. Dean obviously doesn’t mean anything by the touch. Friends touch each other, Castiel tells himself.

Charlie watches him meaningfully for a moment before saying cheerfully, “Come on, Ebert, let’s get the movie going.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’. Anyone want a refill ‘fore I press play?” When no-one responds, Dean starts the movie and the opening credits roll. Dean settles against the back of the couch, still within touching distance of Castiel, but his attention is focused on the screen. Charlie curls up with her legs tucked under her, one hand propping her head up on the armrest.

As much as Castiel loves the movie, he’s still having a hard time focusing. He can feel Dean’s body heat against the side of his leg and smell his cologne over the aroma of queso and buttered popcorn. It stirs a storm of heat and butterflies in his chest. Although Dean and Charlie keep up a chatter of comments and teasing, Castiel is quiet, completely engrossed in not freaking out.  

Every time Dean shifts in his seat, he ends up a little closer and by the time they reach the baptism scene, Castiel’s muscles are quivering with the effort of keeping himself from brushing against the side of Dean’s body. Dean and Charlie quote along with the final scene, Charlie throwing herself out of the chair to wrap her arms around Dean as she wails Connie’s lines. Her enthusiasm shoves Dean backward until he is sprawled across Castiel’s lap.

Dean is laughing, voice husky and appealing. His back is pressed tight against Castiel’s chest, his short hair tickling Castiel’s nose as he struggles to tear himself away from Charlie. “For Christ’s sake, crazy woman. Get the hell off me,” Dean exclaims, shoving her away.

“You stood godfather to our baby, you lousy cold-hearted bastard!” Charlie exclaims, howling and grabbing onto him again. Castiel tries to shove himself against the arm of the couch to get away, but it doesn’t help. He’s pinned by Dean’s weight, and while it’s not an unfortunate place to be, it doesn’t support his goal of maintaining an appropriate, purely platonic distance from Dean.

“Could you not scare the shit out of Cas the first time he hangs out with us?” Dean protests, struggling to control the tiny woman. “He’ll never want to come back if you traumatize him.” Eventually, he gains the upper hand, tickling Charlie mercilessly until she crumples to the floor.

The outrageousness of the situation finally gets to Castiel and he starts to chuckle as Dean moves to pin Charlie down, his much larger form making the task easier despite the way she flails. “Get her arm, Cas, no, no, her other arm! Dammit, Charlie, not so close to the jewels,” Dean calls out directions as he wrestles her into submission. By the time they have her subdued, Dean is sitting on her with one arm pinned under his leg while Castiel controls the other arm. Castiel feels ridiculous, but the silliness is infectious.

His mirth is cut short, though, when the front door opens and Jo walks in carrying two large pizza boxes. She takes in the scene in front of her, shakes her head and walks past them into the dining room to deposit the boxes on the table. “I don’t think I even want to know what you freaks are doing,” she mutters. “I didn’t sign up for an orgy.”

Castiel flushes and jumps away from Charlie. Not that he’s given the idea much thought, but this is certainly not the kind of impression he wants to make on Dean’s girlfriend. Her blond hair is loose today, flowing over a black top that hugs her hips but falls off one shoulder far enough to see her bra strap.  Her blue jeans are just shy of obscenely tight and she smells like cigarette smoke and whiskey. Castiel can't help but feel like Jo has more in common with Dean than he ever will and it makes him sad before he tells himself it doesn't matter. He and Dean are just friends.

Dean is slower letting Charlie up, but he grabs her hand to haul her to her feet. “She started it. We were just defending ourselves,” Dean protests.

Jo smirks. “Sure, I can see how it would take two of you to control her. It’s not like either of you have a weight or height advantage.”

Dean opens the lid of one of the boxes and steals a piece of pepperoni off the pizza before Jo smacks him on the back of the hand. “She may be tiny, but she’s a hellcat. It took all we had. Tell her, Cas. It was life or death,” he says seriously, motioning to Cas with the pepperoni.

Castiel nods gravely. “She is very wily,” he offers.

Dean finally breaks into a grin, popping the spicy slice into his mouth. “Wily, hell yeah, she’s wily, like a coyote,” he exclaims. “We just finished the first movie, so you’re just in time. Let’s grab some pizza and start the next one. We’re not gonna make it through all three before I gotta go get Ben.”

“When I left the Roadhouse, mom had him sorting silverware. He’s going to be working behind the bar before he’s out of grade school.”

“I didn’t know Ellen was taking him to the Roadhouse today. Thought she was off. I coulda got dad to watch him.”

Jo shrugs and serves herself two pieces of pizza before passing the box to Castiel. “There’s plain in the other box if you don’t like pepperoni,” she says, handing him a plate as well. “You know how mom is. It’s not like having Ben there slows her down at all. He’s been an angel today anyway. I’d knock on your table but I’m pretty sure it’s not actually wood.”

Castiel excuses himself to make another cup of tea while the others take a bathroom break and get more drinks. He’s hoping to make it back to the living room before Charlie so he can take the recliner. He’s fairly sure his coping skills aren’t good enough to allow him to sit on the couch while Dean cuddles up with Jo within touching distance.

He disposes of the used tea bag and heads back to the living room, but luck isn’t in his favor. Charlie is already settling into the recliner and he’s not sure how to ask her to switch without drawing attention to his discomfort. Instead, he resumes his seat on the couch, sliding as far as he can against the armrest without being obvious.

Jo takes the seat on the opposite side of the couch, but unlike Castiel’s attempt at unobtrusiveness, she sprawls against the armrest. There is only a sliver of couch free for Dean, who shoves at her leg with a growl. “At least Sam has a reason for his moose legs to be all over the place. You’re just obnoxious.” His attempts to move her over lead her to elbow him in the stomach, so Dean gives in and slides in closer to Castiel. Torn between thrilling at Dean’s closeness and panicking, Castiel coughs to cover his gasp when Dean’s arm brushes his leg while he’s getting comfortable.

Dean doesn’t seem to notice his unintentional response and pushes play on the remote. Soon the group is drawn back into the Corleone saga. Dean and Charlie both make more of an effort to engage Castiel in their chatter, while Jo, who has never seen the movies before, asks a million questions about the plot and characters.

Despite Castiel’s initial discomfort, he begins to find Jo’s opinions and the way she argues with everything Dean says very entertaining. She has a sharp, biting wit that is tempered with good-natured kindness. When she gets up to go to the kitchen, she takes Castiel’s empty mug and returns it full of hot water and a fresh tea bag without being asked. That makes it hard for Castiel to dislike her.

Castiel is so engrossed in the movie and conversation he doesn’t realize Dean is practically pressed against his side until the movie is over. Dean’s weight is a warm pressure against him, sending little shockwaves through Castiel’s body when he shifts in his seat. The way Dean is slouched to rest his head on the back of the couch, he’s practically laying his head on Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel glances over Dean’s head at Jo while Charlie stops the movie and removes the disc from the player. Jo doesn’t seem to notice or think there is anything odd about Dean practically cuddling with Castiel. In fact, neither of them have made the slightest action toward each other that could be interpreted as anything other than platonic. Are they angry at each other? Their banter doesn’t suggest that. Perhaps they just aren’t a physically affectionate couple? Castiel’s reticence for touch never extended to the men he became involved with romantically. Michael and Malachi were very affectionate, but Raphael was more reserved. Maybe that is how Dean and Jo are.

When Dean stands up from the couch, he puts his hand on Castiel’s knee to leverage himself up, then offers Castiel his hand. When Castiel takes it and allows himself to be pulled to his feet, he catches Charlie watching them from behind Dean’s back. Although she doesn’t comment, one eyebrow is raised questioningly. When Dean clasps his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes, her eyes widen a fraction more before narrowing shrewdly. Castiel looks away quickly before she can say anything. Does Charlie find his behavior inappropriate?

“I’m glad you could come, man,” Dean says, the pressure of his hand where it rests on Castiel’s suddenly more noticeable. “Wish we coulda squeezed in the third one, but I don’t want to screw up Ben’s bedtime routine.”

Castiel fights the sudden desire to pull away from Dean. The usual discomfort he feels about touching people hasn’t been present all night, but it is suddenly overwhelming. He shoves the feeling away and forces himself to smile. “Routines are important, Dean,” he says seriously. “I’m grateful that you invited me. I had a very good time.” When Dean releases the pressure on his shoulder slightly, Castiel shifts back so that he’s no longer within touching distance. 

“We’ll do it again,” Dean offers, picking up the empty bottles from the table. “Finish the Godfather, then start one of the other trilogies. Maybe Star Wars or Lord of the Rings. Remember when we used to do this all the time, Char?”

Charlie clears the plates, dumping the crusts and crumbs in the garbage before piling them in the sink. “Sure, we used to camp out on your couch and watch movies for hours.”

“And we’d all get second-hand stoned from Ash,” Jo continues, pulling a laugh from both Dean and Charlie. “I was grounded for a week when I came home from your place and ate the entire pan of brownies mom made for the church picnic.”

Charlie slaps her on the back. “I can’t believe your mom let you hang out with us anyway. You were just a kid and we were definitely not a good influence.”

“And it’s not like she trusts Ash or me,” Dean adds. “She knows us too well.” He slings an arm around each of the women’s shoulders and pulls them in tight.

Castiel watches them, feeling like an outsider. “Ash?” he asks to cover his discomfort. He’s never had this comfortable companionship they share. Friends, family or lovers, he’s never felt like he was really connected to any to them like Dean is with his friends. Although there is physical affection with Meg, Castiel can never get past the distance that holds him apart from her. This friendly intimacy is a mystery.

“My older brother,” Jo answers, giving Dean a light squeeze before he releases her. “He lives in San Francisco now, which is probably how I’ve managed to stay out of jail.”

Dean nods with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ash is, well, he’s complicated,” he says softly, turning to put the leftover pizza in containers and slide it into the fridge. The friendly camaraderie drains away, leaving a remoteness around Dean that is almost painful for Castiel to watch.

Charlie clears her throat, obviously noticing the change in the room’s mood. “It’s been fun, bitches, but I gotta jet. You all should come to game night on Friday,” she announces.

Dean cracks a smile. “I’ll try. Gotta see if anyone can watch Ben.”

“Bring him along. The gang are dorks, but they’re pretty child-friendly.”

Dean considers it. “We’ll see. I think he’d like that.”

Nodding, she turns to Jo and Castiel. “And you two losers? What’s your excuses?”

Jo shakes her head. “Uh, uh, no way. Not my thing. I’ll do movies but I draw the line at your nerdy dungeons and dragons crap.”

Charlie sticks her tongue out at Jo and rounds on Castiel, who blanches. “Um, well, I will attempt to attend. I can’t promise anything,” he stammers, glancing at Dean for support.

“I’ll let you know if I go and me and Ben can provide moral support if you want to risk it,” Dean offers. Castiel nods with a smile.

“It’s been real, catch you all later,” Charlie announces, hugging Dean and then Jo. She glances at Castiel as if she’s considering it, then takes a step back. “You headed out? I’ll walk out with you.”

Castiel says his goodbyes and follows Charlie out onto the porch. When the door closes behind them, Castiel takes a deep breath to steady himself.  He follows Charlie down the sidewalk, raising a hand to wave as he splits off to walk to his car.

He slides behind the wheel and starts the car. Before he pulls away, he glances up at the house. Charlie is still standing beside her car, keys clutched in her hand. As he drives toward home, he tries to put the way she was watching him curiously out of his mind.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super-Charlie, sprinkling her magic enlightenment dust all over our thick-headed boys. Maybe Dean needs a dose next??

The school is an echoing cavern at the end of the day. Once all the children, parents, and school staff have left, the slightest noise is magnified like a gunshot through the empty hallways. When the microwave beeps, signaling that Castiel’s tea is heated, the sound reverberates in the small staff lounge.  

Castiel pulls his mug from the microwave and throws the used tea bag in the garbage. Sitting down for what feels like the first time all day, he sips his tea and appreciates the solitude. Meg left right after the last bell rang, but Castiel had some paperwork he wanted to finish. By the time he was done, it was dark outside the classroom windows.

He passed Dirk, the janitor, in the hallway on his way to the lounge, but the rest of the school is empty. Or at least, he thought it was until Charlie pushes through the door in a riot of color. Her flowing gypsy skirt is bright purple, paired with a t-shirt bearing Princess Leia in the Rosie the Riveter pose. Castiel chuckles under his breath.

“Hey, what are you still doing here?” She marches past him to shove her mug under the Keurig.

Castiel shrugs, the motion easy. “Paperwork. You?”

“Running a virus scan on the computers in the library. Since I monitor the kids, I’m pretty sure someone on the staff was using the school computers for some, uh, extra-curricular activities.” She scrunches up her face in distaste. “I mean, come on, I don’t judge, but if they’re gonna search for porn, they should use their own computers.”

Castiel makes a soft sound of disgust. Although Raphael and Malachi both enjoyed watching pornography, Castiel has never seen the appeal. The obvious lack of emotional connection between the participants has always been disconcerting.

“I need to get them sorted out tonight because I don’t want to be here late tomorrow,” she continues, ignoring Castiel’s lack of response. “Game night. Dean and Ben are going to be there. You coming?”

“I don’t, no, I don’t think so,” he stammers. It’s been three weeks since the movie night at Dean’s house and he and Dean have been texting each other several times every day. Dean has been asking him about going to Charlie’s game night, but Castiel isn’t sure he’s quite ready for that yet.

“Aww, man, you’d have fun. You’d be great at it, I bet. Dean said he’s been trying to get you to come.” She says the last bit slyly, peering at him under her eyelashes. She snags her mug from the machine and sits across from Castiel, immediately taking a large gulp of her coffee. From the way her pupils are dilated, Castiel assumes this is nowhere near her first cup of the day.

Castiel shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “He has,” he admits.

“You guys have been texting, right? And I saw him and Ben come in for parent night.” She says it off-handedly, but Castiel can sense that she’s working up to something.

“Yes, Dean and I talk. I try to help him with Ben.”

Charlie is silent. She watches him steadily, taking two more mouthfuls of her coffee until finally she sighs. “You don’t just talk about Ben, do you? You and Dean, there’s something there.”

Castiel stiffens. “Of course not. He is the parent of one of my students,” Castiel insists, getting up to rinse his empty mug. He turns it over on paper towels beside the sink, using the movements to keep him from looking at Charlie.

Charlie makes a noncommittal sound as she rises to rinse her own mug. When she approaches the sink, she reaches out as if she’s going to put her hand on his arm. Without thinking about it, Castiel pulls his arm away. His eyes dart to her face at her smug scoff.

“Three years,” she says, staring him down. “We’ve known each other for three years and you’ve never touched me, not even to shake my hand. Not until that night at Dean’s when you grabbed my arm just because he told you to.”

Castiel opens his mouth and then closes it, gaping like a fish caught on land. Before he can come up with something reasonable to say, Charlie continues. “I know you only touch certain people, like Meg, so it’s just interesting that you’re so different with him. You shy away when people reach for you, even to shake your hand, but Dean was practically glued to you all night.”

Castiel sighs deeply. His face is hot with embarrassment. “I’ve had a mild aversion to being touched my entire life,” he admits softly. “My mother would hug me and that was okay. I learned to tolerate my brother because he went out of his way, as I know brothers do, to make me uncomfortable. My father was, well, distant to say the least. I hated it when he touched me, but I think he picked up on that and would insist that I hug him anytime I saw him. I eventually started picking up ways to prevent it and I’ve just continued to use them.”

“That’s horrible. I mean, touch is awesome and amazing, but you should be able to do it on your terms.” Charlie’s eyes are wide with emotion.

Castiel acknowledges the sentiment with an almost imperceptible nod. “We didn’t really know each other well then, but I had a very bad breakup a few years ago,” he continues, stopping to swallow deeply. He wasn't lying when he told Balthazar that Malachi has no power over him, but he still doesn't like to talk about it. “He hurt me, physically, and it’s gotten much worse since then. There are only a few people with whom I’m comfortable enough.” Realizing how that sounds, he is quick to add, “Not that I’m not comfortable with you, it’s just,”

“No, I get it. It’s okay,” she reassures. “It’s a different kind of relationship, more like what you have with Meg. I know you’re close with Balthazar but you don’t touch him either.”

Castiel is stunned. “You notice a lot.”

It’s Charlie’s turn to blush. “I like watching people. I spend so much time with computers that it’s kind of a game I play with myself. It makes me keep in touch with actual humans, you know?”

Castiel smiles. “I do. I like watching people too. But you’re right, I don’t easily adapt to people.”

“But you adapted to Dean,” she responds, that sly look back in her eyes.

Seeing that Charlie is clearly not going to let it go, Castiel sighs. “Yes,” he concedes, “I adapted to Dean. Not only does it not bother me when he touches me, I seem to feel the need to go out of my way to touch him. I don’t understand it.”

“So what happened at the end? You two were all cuddly and then all of a sudden you were stiff as a board again.”

Castiel really doesn’t want to talk about Dean and his girlfriend with Charlie. Not that Charlie would judge him, but he hates admitting that he forgot for a while that Dean even _has_ a girlfriend, let alone that she was sitting at the other end of the couch. Bracing himself, he confesses, “I remembered that I shouldn’t be touching him; that his girlfriend probably doesn’t like it.”

The look on Charlie’s face would be comical if Castiel wasn’t so confused by it. “Girlfriend?” Charlie sputters. “What girlfriend?”

“Well, Jo,” Castiel blurts out.

After a long beat of shocked silence, Charlie starts laughing, soft giggles that quickly develop into full body chortles until tears are streaming down her face. She grabs the counter as she doubles over.

At first, Castiel is stunned into silence, but after the laughter has gone on for a few moments, Castiel becomes frustrated. “What is so funny? I doubt she thinks her boyfriend cuddling up to me on the couch is amusing.”

“Oh, honey,” Charlie forces out with gasps of breath, “you poor thing. Jo isn’t Dean’s girlfriend. They grew up together. She’s more like a little sister to him than anything. Dean is depressingly single at the moment.”

“Jo isn’t his girlfriend? But I thought, well, she came to the meeting for Ben so I thought they were involved.”

Charlie wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, still chuckling softly. “Involved, sure. They’re family. Jo’s parents practically raised Dean, and he even dated her brother for a while, but Jo is so much younger than us that it would be weird for Dean to think of her that way.”

Castiel’s thoughts screech to a halt again at Charlie’s words. “Dean dated her brother?” he asks incredulously.

She nods and motions for him to follow her out of the lounge. “They were pretty serious for a while. Even moved in together after Ash came back from college,” she explains.

“I didn’t know Dean is interested in men,” Castiel admits, feeling stupid.

Charlie slants him a look. “The guy’s been all over you since you met and you weren’t sure he was into guys? Geez. You look so much smarter than you are.”

Castiel stiffens defensively. “I mean, he has a child so he obviously had a relationship with a woman. I, ah, I thought maybe he was just friendly,” he offers lamely. They turn toward his classroom, their footsteps echoing in the hallway.

“Oh, he is, but he’s usually not so touchy-feely, especially with guys. A pat on the back or a high-five, sure, but that was classic Winchester flirting the other night.” Charlie shakes her head in mock disappointment. “And, just so you know, Castiel, bisexuality is a thing. I’m going to revoke your LGBTQ membership card.”

They arrive at the door to his room before he has to respond. “You should ask him out,” Charlie suggests, walking backward toward the stairs up to the library.

“I’ll think about,” he offers, knowing that he would never do any such thing. She kisses the palm of her hand and blows it toward him with a wink before turning to jog up the stairs.

Castiel pulls his coat out of the closet and shoves the last of his paperwork into his messenger bag. His phone rests on the corner of the desk, the notification light blinking. Castiel turns on the screen and is surprised by the string of missed texts from Dean.

**[Dean] 4:19pm: think we’re gonna grab pizza for dinner. don’t feel like cooking**

**[Dean] 5:47pm: Ben didn’t wanna leave the sitter. tried it the way you said and it worked!**

**[Dean] 6:10pm: u home from school yet?**

**[Dean] 6:14pm: Cas! your startin to worry me man**

Now that the days are getting shorter, it gets dark so much earlier. It is hard to believe that there are less than two weeks until Christmas break. Just before stepping out into the brisk night air, Castiel sends Dean a text and gets a response almost immediately.

_[You] 6:21PM: I’m sorry, Dean. I have been working late at the school and didn’t get your messages. I’m on my way home now._

**[Dean] 6:21PM: you never take so long to answer. thought somethin happened**

_[You] 6:22PM: I apologize. I didn’t realize my silence would worry you._

Castiel continues to text as he walks, fat snowflakes melting on the screen of his phone. Although there have been several light snowfalls, nothing has stuck to the ground until now. The sidewalk is covered with a dusting of white tonight, clearly showing the outlines of the footprints of a neighbor walking their dog.

**[Dean] 6:23PM: its nothin. guess I’m just used to talking to you.**

**[Dean] 6:23PM: its snowing**

_[You] 6:24PM: It is. I’m walking home and the snowflakes are melting on my screen._

**[Dean] 6:24PM: u shoulda drove.**

**[Dean] 6:25PM: I’ll come get you.**

Castiel reads Dean’s last text twice. Although Dean’s offer is ridiculous, Castiel is tempted to allow him to come. He shakes his head at his foolishness.

  _[You] 6:26PM: Don’t be silly. I would be home by the time you got here._

**[Dean] 6:27PM: walkin in the dark and snow is dangerous**

**[Dean] 6:27PM: you shouldn’t be texting**

Castiel knows that walking and texting is dangerous, even when the sidewalk isn’t slick with snow, but he enjoys talking to Dean. He is just about to reluctantly agree that he should focus on his surroundings when his phone rings, the screen showing an incoming call from Dean.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, bringing the phone up to his ear.

“You’re nuts, man. You’re gonna get hit by a car.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’m on the sidewalk. How would I get hit by a car?”

“They could slide in the snow and bam, you’d be flat. You shoulda drove.”

Castiel laughs lightly. “It is a half mile to my house, Dean. It doesn’t make sense to drive. Given the condition of my car, I don’t like to drive it in the snow unless I have to,” he admits.

“You got an IROC, right? Probably rusting under the doors and in the wheel wells.”

“It is,” Castiel acknowledges. “I don’t want the salt to make it worse.” He turns up his driveway, stopping to pull the mail from his box.

“Needs some TLC. Strip it down and weld in some new panels, then you could drive it and not get flattened by a car.”

Castiel lets himself in the front door, shoving Juliet away and making his way to the kitchen. “That would be nice as I’m quite fond of my car, but I don’t know how to weld, Dean,” he says, tossing his bag on the kitchen island. Juliet dances around him until he tips a cup of food into her dish, the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear.

“I could help you. I like doing restoration work.”

“Is that what you do at the garage?” Castiel asks, ignoring the feelings that Dean’s offer sparks.

“Nah, we just do repair and maintenance work. I’d love to start gettin’ into restoration. I did all the work on my Impala myself.”

Castiel hasn’t seen Dean’s car, but he feels like he knows it just from the way Dean talks about it. “You should start your own business. I’m sure there are people who would pay you to restore their cars.”

“It takes a lot of money upfront to do restoration work. You gotta put the money in before you get paid.”  There’s a pause before Dean continues. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do your car. Bobby’s got an empty bay in the back. I bet he’d let us use it.”

“I’ll think about, Dean. I wouldn’t want to monopolize your time.”

“It’d be fun,” Dean wheedles. There is a loud crashing noise in the background and then Dean says in a rush, “Listen, man, I gotta go, but think about it. I’ve been itchin’ for a project. Have a good night, Cas.”

Castiel returns the sentiment and hangs up, trying to ignore the tingly feeling in his chest at the thought of spending more time with Dean. He thinks back to his conversation with Charlie. Working on the car together would provide more opportunities to see if Dean really is interested in him as more than a friend.

He opens the refrigerator and peers inside. There aren’t many choices, so he pulls out the fixings for a turkey sandwich and carries his meal to the studio. The rough sketch of a new painting is sitting on his easel. Castiel takes a bite of his sandwich and studies the sketch. The scene shows the night sky with dozens of spots of light dotting the horizon. The closest dots show tiny figures hurtling toward the earth.

At the front of the scene, the dark haired boy tumbles through the night sky, fire licking across the massive wings that are furled around him. At the bottom of the canvas, a man stands in a field with his arms outstretched. The falling angel is clearly Ben Winchester, but the man waiting to catch him has no facial features. Castiel mixes his paints and starts laying bands of navy blue and royal purple into the sky, ignoring the urge to add the details that would make it clear the man standing in the field is Dean.

* * *

* * *

Dean shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits for Cas to call the parent night meeting to order. As soon as they arrived, Ben and the other children were ushered off to the gym by Meg and Cole Trenton, the speech therapist, for something they called ‘auditory processing games.’ Dean is impressed with himself that he sort of knows what they’re talking about since he read through the packets Pam gave him. He’s been browsing a few of the online forums that were listed in the brochures too, but he hasn’t gotten up the nerve to create an account.

“It took me over an hour to get the slime out of the carpet!” Candace exclaims, punctuating the end of her story with a grimace. Jolene and the other parents laugh, so Dean joins in even though he wasn’t really listening. He managed to place himself toward the side of the cluster of parents, out of Candace’s reach. She has continued to ignore his subtle rebuttals over the past few weeks, so he’s had to escalate to keeping his distance. He really hopes she doesn’t force him into an outright rejection.

Finally, Cas walks to the front of the room and calls the parents to take their seats. He's wearing his normal khakis and button-down but his shirt today is a deep indigo that makes his eyes even more impossibly blue. Dean is shallow enough that he’s been admiring the way the dress pants hug Cas’ ass, even though he feels guilty for it. Although he and Cas have been texting almost every day, Dean has been trying to keep things strictly friendly. Cas never said anything outright, but the way he pulled away from Dean at the end of their movie night was enough to make it clear that his advances aren’t welcome.  Whether it’s because he just isn’t interested in dudes, or he and Meg are involved, Dean doesn’t need it spelled out. He’s disappointed, but he’s never forced himself where he wasn’t wanted.

Dean manages to grab a chair between Jolene and the mother of boy a few years older than Ben. Dean thinks she said he was in regular education too, but he’s not sure. From where he’s sitting, he can turn and face Castiel so he can pretend he doesn’t see Candace watching him. He’s always been attracted to forceful women in the past, but something about Candace rubs him the wrong way.

The discussion topic tonight is managing meltdowns around family members. Listening to some of the horror stories about meddling family from the other parents, Dean is grateful that his family has been understanding and helpful with Ben. Even before they knew what was going on, they were supportive and never judged or criticized Dean for Ben’s behavior.

One of the parents in the back, an older woman Dean doesn’t recognize, is asking for advice on getting her daughter through Christmas mass without a meltdown when Dean feels the phone in his pocket vibrate. He’s glad he remembered to turn the ringer off because he doesn’t think the parents would appreciate being interrupted by AC/DC. He tugs the phone out of his jeans and glances at it under the table.

**[Ash] 6:42PM: crashin at your place for xmas**

Dean sighs softly. Ash comes home for Christmas every year. He usually starts the week staying with his mother and Bobby, but by mid-week he typically migrates to Dean’s house. If he’s starting at Dean’s, something must be wrong. Dean types out a response under the table, trying to be discreet.

_[You] 6:45PM: not Ellen’s? something happen?_

He slides the phone back into his pocket and ignores it when it buzzes a few minutes later. The meeting is winding down and Cas is announcing that this will be the last meeting before Christmas. They won’t resume again until after the New Year. Dean is a little disappointed. The meetings have been good for him and Ben, but they’ve also given him a good excuse to see Cas every week

The children still have twenty minutes until they return to the classroom, giving the parents a chance to socialize. Despite his attempts to avoid her, Dean finds himself standing next to Candace at the snack table. He snags one of the muffins that he and Ben contributed and attempts to escape, but she sidles up close to him as she takes a muffin as well.

“Did you and Ben make these?” she asks, nibbling on the side of the blueberry muffin. “They’re wonderful, so moist and fluffy.”

Dean nods and looks around for an escape, but he doesn’t see one. “We did. They’re pretty easy,” he states. “You just gotta make sure you don’t overmix the batter.”

Candace takes another small bite and grins. “I’m a complete waste in the kitchen,” she admits. “It would be lovely to have someone show me how.” She brushes against his arm as she reaches past him for one of the pre-poured paper cups of juice.

Dean wants to roll his eyes at her blatant angling, but he bites the inside of his cheek instead. “There’s lots of good places on the internet to watch videos. You can learn just about anything that way.”

“It’s so much easier when you have someone to actually show you,” she returns, “and you get to share the final product.”

Dean is grateful when he senses a presence to his left. He’s hoping its Jolene coming to his rescue. Though she and Candace have been friends for years, she has taken to running interference for him. Neither of them has mentioned what is happening, but he welcomes her help.

As Dean turns, he catches a whiff of a cool, crisp scent that tells him it isn’t Jolene lingering behind him. Sprawled on his couch next to Cas, that smell drove him crazy. He had almost laid his head on Cas’ shoulder chasing a trace of the elusive aroma he assumes is Cas’ cologne. It’s not like he would forget it.

Dean steps back when Cas reaches past him for a muffin. He takes a large bite, crumbs clinging to his mouth. The pale pink tip of his tongue swipes across his lips, gathering the morsels, and Dean bites back a moan.

“They’re excellent, aren’t they?” Candace asks, nudging Dean away from snack table to make way for the other parents. Dean lets himself be led, even though he’d really like to put some distance between them.

Thankfully, Cas follows. “Delicious,” Cas confirms, continuing to lick his lips after every bite.

Dean’s eyes follow the path of his tongue each time. Though he knows he should look away, he’s having a hard time making himself. “Thanks, man. Ben really likes cooking with me, so we make a lot of desserts and stuff,” he forces out, ignoring what is becoming a desperate need to adjust his pants.  

Cas pops the last quarter into his mouth and chews with enthusiasm before washing it down with a cup of juice. “That’s wonderful, Dean. You’re making memories that you will both cherish. Unfortunately, I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I’ve always been impressed by those who can cook.”

Dean flushes slightly at the praise and takes a drink of his juice to cover his discomfort. “It’s not that hard,” he insists. “You just follow the recipe and most things turn out pretty good.”

“I’ve never been good at following a recipe. It’s much easier when someone shows me what to do,” Cas responds. Jolene and another mother pass behind him at the snack table, forcing him to step closer to Dean and Candace. He takes a step to the side so that his arm brushes Dean’s.

Dean chokes back a groan at both Cas’ touch and his unwitting echo of Candace’s come-on. _He doesn’t mean it that way_ , he tells himself, while shoving away an image of Cas in his kitchen. They could do that as friends, right? A friend could teach another friend how to cook without there being anything more to it. Of course, since Cas was naked in the little fantasy that just flitted through his head, he doubts there would be anything friendly about it.

“I’m just glad that my mother cooks for Christmas,” Candace adds, suddenly reminding Dean that he and Cas aren’t alone. “I just bring a bottle of wine and packaged rolls,” she says with a small laugh.

“I ate one of the brownies you brought to the spring bake sale,” Jolene responds with good-natured teasing, “and trust me, I’m sure your family is happy you don’t cook for Christmas.”

Candace laughs and pushes her arm playfully, sloshing juice over the edge of the cup. “Oh, hush. I suppose you’re hosting Christmas this year, Betty Crocker.”

Jolene runs her napkin across the side of her cup and smiles. “Of course. We went to my sister’s in Denver last year, so it’s my turn.”

“And you, Dean?” Candace says, drawing Dean’s attention away from watching Cas. “What are your plans for Christmas?” Thankfully, Cas’ presence seems to curb her flirtation a little.

“I, ah, we got family in the neighborhood. We do a big get-together every year,” Dean shares. Christmas at Bobby and Ellen’s is one of Dean’s favorite days of the year. His whole family under one roof together is pretty much his version of heaven.

“That sounds nice. I wish our family was closer together. It gets to be a pain dragging everyone all over the country every year,” Jolene responds. She turns to Cas. “How about you, Castiel? Are you going to visit your mother again this year?”

Cas shakes his head. “No, my mother is visiting a cousin in Georgia this year, so my brother and his wife are spending the holidays here with me. We will probably order food in or go to a restaurant.”

“Whoa, what?” Dean exclaims scandalized. “You can’t eat at a restaurant for Christmas. That’s like sacrilegious or something!”

“I assure you, we will be fine. We’ve eaten out for holidays before. My mother is not always up to having holidays at her house and neither my brother nor I cook. It’s perfectly adequate.”

Dean stares at him as if he just suggested parading naked through the halls of the school. “Adequate?” he questions in a horrified voice.  He turns to Jolene and Candace. “Help me out here, ladies. Tell him that Christmas dinner shouldn’t be adequate and definitely shouldn’t be had at a restaurant.”

Candace nods and Jolene makes a face. “He’s right, Castiel. Eating in a restaurant seems so impersonal,” Jolene admits.

“We don’t have much choice,” Cas responds, starting to look mildly aggravated. “I burn everything I cook and if it were left to Gabriel, we would eat nothing but desserts. It hardly seems appropriate to make Kali cook for us after traveling so far.”

Dean starts to argue again, but a noise from the doorway interrupts him. The children are back, some of them chattering loudly while Meg and Cole try to organize them into a line. The next ten minutes are controlled chaos while the parents wrestle their children into their coats. One of the other kindergarteners, a little girl who stays in Cas’ room all day, is crying and Ben is trying to soothe her. It makes Dean’s heart swell in his chest to see how well Ben has connected with the other children.

Dean helps Ben into his coat and does his best not to look like he’s lingering as the other parents and children leave. He takes his time helping to clean up the snack table and putting the room back to its normal arrangement for school. As Meg helps Jolene and Allie pack up the leftovers of the cookies they’d brought, Cas appears beside Dean.

“I’m glad you were able to come tonight, Dean,” he says, taking the last of the garbage from Dean and shoving it into the bag at his feet.

“Yeah, man, it’s good. Ben likes the games and stuff and hanging out with the other parents is kinda cool.”

Cas huffs out a laugh as if he’s trying to avoid saying something.

“What? Come on, man. What’s so funny?” Dean chides him when he doesn’t answer. He glances over to where Ben is looking through the telescope mounted on the window sill. With Cas’ help, he’d picked out one for Ben for Christmas.

Cas quirks the side of his mouth and narrows his eyes before answering. “Candace is certainly appreciative of your company.”

“Oh, ah, yeah. Well, she can be as appreciative as she wants,” he bites out, flushing a little in discomfort. He clasps the back of his neck with one hand, eyes darting away.

“You’re not interested?” Cas asks mildly, stacking the leftover paper products in the cabinet for the next meeting.

Dean doesn’t answer for a moment, then forces out a gruff laugh. “She’s cool and all, just figured hooking up with the moms isn’t a good way to make sure Ben and I stay welcome here.”

Cas doesn’t look back at Dean when he responds, but his shoulders seem to tense. “Perhaps she’s looking for a relationship, not casual sex?” he points out, pulling his coat out of the closet. Dean’s become oddly attached to the tan trench coat that Cas seems to wear every damn day.

“Maybe,” Dean agrees, trying not to react to the easy way that Cas mentions casual sex, “but I’m not really interested in that.” Not with Candace at least. Maybe if Cas had been more receptive . . . but that’s water under the bridge. He’ll take Cas’ friendship if that’s all he gets, even with the continual case of blue-balls it creates.

Dean waits for Cas to respond, but he doesn’t. Just shrugs his shoulders, a tiny movement that Dean would have missed if he wasn’t watching him so intently. He clears his throat and changes the subject. “You don’t have to eat at a restaurant, you know.”

Cas tenses again. “Dean, I explained—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dean cuts him off. “I meant you don’t have to eat a restaurant ‘cause you could have Christmas with us.”

Cas rounds on him, eyes wide. “That’s very kind, Dean, but we couldn’t impose.”

“It wouldn’t be imposing. I mean, I make most of the food anyway, even though we all go to Bobby and Ellen’s. And it’s not like they’d turn you or your family away. Christmas is a time to celebrate together, not to be eatin’ in some restaurant with strangers.”

“Gabriel and his wife are strangers to you,” Cas points out.

Dean grits his teeth. “But they’re your family, and you’re on your way to being our family, so that makes them family too.”

Cas’ eyes widen even further at Dean’s sentiment. He doesn’t seem to understand how important he’s become to both Dean and Ben. “Dean,” he says, voice a little rougher than usual.

“I mean it, Cas. We haven’t known each other very long, but you’ve become a friend, not just Ben’s teacher. It would be great if you could have Christmas with us.” Cas is staring at him, eyes glistening with emotion, and Dean can’t look away even if he wants to. He stares right back, willing Cas to give in.

Finally Cas nods, his shoulders relaxing. “I, well, in that case, we would be honored. I’ll ask Gabriel tonight, but I can’t imagine that he’ll have any problems with it.” He seems to consider something then gives a light laugh. “Though I should warn you, my brother can be a bit much to handle. He’s a bit, well, eccentric.”

Dean just laughs and clasps a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “You haven’t met my family yet, buddy. Trust me, he’d have to be pretty damn out there to not fit in with us.”

Dean finishes helping Cas clear the snack table, then drags Ben away from the telescope. He can tell Ben is tired because he doesn’t put up much of a fuss. As they’re getting in the Impala, his phone buzzes again. He jams the key in the ignition and pulls it out of his pocket.

**[Ash] 6:49PM: not lookin for parental input right now. u know how she gets**

**[Ash] 7:33PM: if you’re tryin to think of how to say no just say it. Not gonna be pissed.**

Dean sighs. Ellen has been less than thrilled with Ash ever since he accepted the job in San Francisco. It’s been seven damn years, but every time he comes back she gives him grief about moving back home and Dean ends up playing referee between them. It’s no wonder he only visits a couple of times a year.

At this point, there isn’t much good that could come from Ash moving back to Lawrence. He seems to be happy in California. He’s got money and a lifestyle that he likes and it isn’t like he could get a fancy technology development job living in Kansas. Unlike Ellen, Dean accepted that he isn’t coming back years ago.

It’s not like Dean doesn’t miss the stupid son of a bitch. There were days, just after he left, that Dean wanted nothing more than to gas up the Impala and drive straight through to the west coast. He used to fantasize about showing up on Ash’s doorstep and begging forgiveness for not going with him in the first place. But there was nothing to forgive. Ash understood why Dean stayed. With less than six months of sobriety under his belt, and Sam at Stanford, John needed Dean’s support and Dean was determined to give his father a shot. Ash got that.

_[You] 7:38PM: nah, man. At ben’s meeting. You know you’re welcome_

Dean shoves the phone back in his pocket and starts the car. Although Ash comes home for a week at Christmas, he usually only stays at Dean’s for a day or two toward the end. Dean looks in the rearview mirror at Ben, who is murmuring to Benson as he watches the stars out the window. He’s not sure how Ben will take to having Ash around for so long. Ben gets along with Ash just fine in short doses, but having Ash there will screw up Ben’s routines for sure.

He thinks about texting Ash back and telling him it would be better for him to stay somewhere else. Ash would understand. He’s never been anything but supportive with Ben. But he doesn’t. Dean wants this, wants Ash with them. Hell, he’ll even admit that he wants Ash in his bed. Although they’ll make up the couch and act like that’s where Ash will sleep, Dean knows he’ll end up in Dean’s room soon enough. As he pulls out of the parking lot and heads for home, he wonders if it’s really Ash that he wants. Maybe Ash is just a convenient, familiar way to not be alone, even if it’s only for a week.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'm sorry. Please don't hate Ash. He's not a bad guy.
> 
> Second, you'll probably find that my Ash is not the canon Ash you're used to. I've tried to keep the rest of the main characters as close to their canon personalities as possible for an AU, but I have a real soft spot for Ash. My Ash is what I think Ash could have been if the writers had actually let him grow into a person instead of just being a shallow caricature. What we got of his backstory was enough to make him interesting, but they never fleshed him out. Instead, all we got was comic relief and exposition. 
> 
> Third, did I mention that I'm sorry? It will be okay. I promise.
> 
> Last, I'm in love with Richard Speight Jr's current hair and beard, so I gave Gabriel his look. Creative license. Sue me.

Castiel loves airports. It’s not really the actual flying though he doesn’t mind that as much as some people. Rather, he’s drawn to the liminal space that the airport represents. It is a crossroads of sorts, where people interact who would otherwise never come into contact. Several feet away an elderly couple speaks rapid Korean as they stand in line next to a German college student with a ratty backpack slung over his shoulder. Castiel finds it fascinating.

He takes the last bite of the chicken wrap he bought at a kiosk on his way through the terminal and weaves his way through the crowd to the arrival gate. He keeps one eye on the big electronic board that marks the arrival and departure times. Kali and Gabriel’s flight is due to land shortly and Castiel would rather be waiting when they arrive than need to rush.

Although it’s impossible to keep any kind of distance in the throngs of people, he doesn’t mind being jostled in the crowd. Instead, he’s invigorated by the energy. Given how difficult Gabriel can be, Castiel will need all the energy he can get. This isn't the first time they’ve visited him in Lawrence, but having Gabriel around always means a certain amount of stress. He loves his brother, but Los Angeles, where Gabriel works as an entertainment lawyer, is much better suited to Gabriel’s eccentricity than a small town.

Castiel reaches the gate just moments before the numbers next to their flight on the board change to _Arrived_.  He knows it will be a little while until they actually disembark, so he finds a spot to stand where he can see the gate but isn’t impeding the flow of people.

While he waits, Castiel’s thoughts wander, once again, to the upcoming Christmas dinner. Gabriel was delighted to be invited to an actual home-cooked meal, even though the hosts are complete strangers to him. If there is one thing that Gabriel is good at, it’s schmoozing with people. His job practically demands it.

Thankfully, Castiel managed to make the invitation sound innocuous enough that Gabriel never picked up on Castel’s underlying nervousness. Or, at least, Castiel didn’t think he did. It is hard to tell with Gabriel. Regardless, though, the chances of keeping Gabriel in the dark about his feelings for Dean in-person are incredibly slim. Gabriel has a way of reading every nuance and calling Castiel out in the most humiliating ways possible.

Castiel watches the gate. Most of the travelers wander alone to the baggage claim, but several stop to receive hugs from the people waiting for them. A particularly large man wearing a football jersey stops to pick up a small blond boy and kisses him on the cheek. He takes the hand of the woman who was waiting for him and they turn toward the baggage carousel together, the movement revealing the stunning woman behind them. Castiel is just as struck by Kali’s beauty today as he was the first time he met her. He’s even more stunned that the woman is married to his brother.

Her dark chocolate curls are swept up into a loose bun on the top of her head, highlighting the graceful sweep of her neck as she turns to speak to the man behind her. She raises her hand to Gabriel’s cheek and her golden skin contrasts beautifully with Gabriel’s California tan. Gabriel says something in return and she smiles. She turns and moves farther through the gate, Gabriel trailing along behind her as he usually does. Seeing the two of them together, the way Gabriel defers to her, one would never imagine that he is a successful lawyer sought out by high-powered actors and musicians. He seems meek in comparison to the gorgeous woman in front of him.

Kali, on the other hand, exudes confidence. Growing up as the only daughter of a wealthy businessman in Nagpur, India, she came to America in her early twenties to model. Capitalizing on her beauty and poise, it took her less than ten years to transform her success into a popular music label, allowing her to follow her true passion. She and Gabriel met six years ago when one of her artists was named in a copyright suit. Although Gabriel lost the suit, he won Kali. Castiel thinks he came out ahead.

“Castiel!” she exclaims when she notices him moving toward them, putting up one slender hand to gain his attention. Although Kali can be intense and intimidating, Castiel is very fond of his sister-in-law. When he approaches them, she pauses, allowing him to press a kiss to each cheek. Kali understood his reluctance to hug without him ever needing to explain it. It is just another thing he finds endearing about her.

Gabriel, unfortunately, has no such restraint. “Cassie,” he says, throwing his arms around Castiel and squeezing despite the way Castel tenses. “The clean Kansas air must be good for you. You look good, bro.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and extricates himself from Gabriel’s embrace. “I’ve asked you not to call me that,” he mutters, “but thank you, I suppose. You also look well. It’s good to see that Kali is taking such good care of you.”

Gabriel runs both hands through his light brown hair, shoving it behind his ears, and preens. It seems longer every time Castiel sees him and his scruffy beard makes him look more like a hippy than a prosperous lawyer. He waggles his eyebrows and says lasciviously, “Oh, yes, Cassie-O, she certainly takes care of me.”

This time, it’s Kali that rolls her eyes and slaps him lightly on the shoulder. “Gabriel, leave your brother alone and get our bags,” she orders. “Less than five minutes on the ground and you’re already wearing out your welcome.”

Castiel bites back a smile as his brother jumps to do his wife’s bidding. It’s nice that Gabriel has settled down with someone able to keep him in line. Secretly, Castiel thinks it is precisely that characteristic that drew Gabriel to Kali in the first place.

“He misses you,” she says as they follow at a more sedate pace. “He’s been going on about this trip for weeks.”

“I miss him too,” he returns softly, “and you as well.” He brushes his fingertips across the inside of her forearm, eliciting a smile.  He’s been trying to push himself with Kali, drawing her into his little circle by forcing himself to touch her. She never comments, but her expression each time he does shows how much it means to her. If Castiel had a sister, he would want her to be just like Kali.

They help Gabriel collect the bags and start the trek to where Castiel parked in the garage. Even though it is supposed to snow tonight, it has been clear for the last week so he doesn’t feel guilty about bringing the IROC, not that he has any other choice.

“When are you going to buy a grown up car?” Gabriel teases as he closes the trunk on their bags. “You know, dad’s dead. You don’t need to annoy him anymore with your teenage nightmare.”

Castiel says nothing while Gabriel climbs into the backseat, grumbling the entire time as Kali holds the front seat forward for him. He waits until Kali is settled in the seat next to him, serenely ignoring Gabriel’s gripes, before turning the key in the ignition and gracing his brother with a response. “I happen to like my car, Gabriel. Not everything is about father.”

“Sure, sure,” Gabriel placates with a cheeky grin, “there isn’t going to be much of it left soon anyway.”

“Dean is going to help me fix it,” Castiel snaps and then immediately regrets it. He can see Gabriel’s smug grin in the rear-view mirror.

“Oooooh, Dean,” Gabriel says, drawing out the name in an annoying sing-song that makes him sound like a twelve-year-old girl. “He wants to have Christmas with you and offers to fix your car. Hmmm, do I need to ask him about his intentions toward my baby bro?” So much for Gabriel not picking up on anything.

Castiel resolutely refuses to make eye-contact with Gabriel in the mirror. A biting protest is on the tip of his tongue, but he knows it will only encourage his brother. Instead, he stares straight ahead at the road and concentrates on threading his way through the late afternoon traffic around the airport.

Not one to be put off by Castiel’s stoicism, Gabriel continues, “I hope you’re playing hard to get. It wouldn’t do for you to put out too easily if he’s just trying to get in your pants.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel growls menacingly, but Kali cuts him off.

“Enough, Gabriel,” she snaps, turning slightly in her seat to glare at him. “Could you behave yourself for once? Castiel has been gracious enough to open his home to us, could you please not repay his kindness with your ridiculous teasing!”

Castiel favors his sister-in-law with a grateful smile, finally allowing Gabriel to catch his eye in the mirror as he turns back to the road. The older man, at least, has the grace to look sheepish.

“Sorry, Cassie,” he murmurs and Castiel is once again struck by how much power Kali has over his normally unrepentant sibling. Their childhood would have been much different if their father had possessed that trick.

“I know you’re just teasing, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t embarrass me in front of Dean or his family tomorrow,” Castiel acknowledges. “Dean has become a friend, as well as being the parent of one of my students, so I would prefer that he not think my family uncivilized. “ The thought of Dean and Gabriel in a room together leaves Castiel in a slight cold sweat, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. He agreed to this ridiculously bad idea and now he can only hope that Gabriel lets him escape from it with at least a semblance of dignity.

There’s silence while Castiel heads south on the interstate back toward Lawrence. After a few minutes, Gabriel clears his throat. “So, where’s your other half?” he asks.

Castiel casts a quizzical look in the mirror.

“You know,” Gabriel continues. He holds his hand up near his cheek. “About yay high? Snarky mouth and constantly attached to your hip?”

“Meg is having Christmas with her sister’s family,” Castiel answers, ignoring Gabriel’s attempt to goad him.

“Too bad. I like that little spitfire,” Gabriel declares, rubbing his hands together. He leans up between the seats, then pulls a piece of gum from his pocket. He unwraps it, pops it in his mouth, and then chews in the most annoying way possible for a few minutes. “We shoulda’ come for Thanksgiving so we could get a taste of the bird she whipped up for you and Balthazar,” he adds before popping and cracking the gum noisily.

Castiel grits his teeth and refuses to rise to the bait, as he knows that Gabriel is intentionally trying to irritate him. He chances a peek at Kali and she is also determinedly ignoring Gabriel’s antics. Castiel wonders idly if a lifetime of tolerating Gabriel somehow equipped him for dealing with young Autistic children. He assumes, then, that he should be grateful that his brother is a pain in the ass.

“You should have,” Castiel says instead of acknowledging Gabriel’ behavior. “Dinner was delicious. Meg is an exceptional chef.” The three friends had dined at Castiel’s house, as usual, and Castiel had been extremely grateful that Meg’s good humor had allowed him to escape the evening with minimal teasing about Dean.

The remainder of the trip passes more easily, with Castiel and Kali chatting about work and mutual acquaintances while Gabriel answers emails and asks repeatedly how much farther. Both Castiel and Kali completely ignore him.

Gabriel perks up considerably when they pull into the driveway. Castiel and Gabriel retrieve the bags from the trunk as the garage door closes behind them, and then follow Kali into the house. Juliet barks frantically as they enter, immediately slamming her body into Gabriel to knock him back against the wall.  Gabriel drops the bags and laughs, sinking down to throw his arms around the dog as she tries to lick his face.

In some ways, Castiel wonders if Gabriel curtailed his feelings about the incident with Malachi by focusing on this weird over-attachment to his dog. To say that Gabriel hadn’t taken the assault very well is an understatement. At first, Castiel hadn’t even wanted to tell him, but Meg insisted that Gabriel know. Although Meg and Gabriel are barely civil on a good day, she knew that Castiel would need the support of his family.

Gabriel had ranted and threatened a number of very creative revenge scenarios when Castiel called to tell him. Despite Castiel’s assurances that he was fine, Gabriel insisted on flying out to Kansas. By the time Gabriel was able to clear his schedule, though, there hadn’t been much he could do but hold Castiel when he broke down. That happened much more frequently than Castiel wanted in those first few weeks and he saw a protective, supportive side to his brother that he’d never known existed.

Castiel and Meg had picked up Juliet the day before Gabriel arrived and they were inseparable for the duration of Gabriel’s three-week stay. While Castiel was at work, Gabriel walked the dog and puttered around the house. At night, Juliet would curl up in Gabriel’s lap while the brothers talked in a way they never had before. As horrific as the altercation with Malachi had been, Castiel welcomed the opportunity to become closer to his brother that it had triggered.

Kali and Castiel leave Gabriel rolling around on the floor in the hallway and carry the bags to one of the spare bedrooms. It is so rarely used that Castiel had been sure to air it out and turn the heat on to prepare for their arrival. By the time they return from the bedroom, Gabriel has made his way into the kitchen and is rooting through the refrigerator.

“Where do you keep all the actual food?” he asks, holding a package of kale up to his face. He sniffs it warily and then shoves it back into the crisper. He slams the door and then yanks open the freezer. “No ice cream? Seriously, Cassie? How does a person live without ice cream? Are you even a real boy?”

“Not all of us consider Type-2 diabetes to be a life goal, Gabriel,” Castiel retorts dryly. He takes the box of frozen carrots Gabriel is spinning on the end of his finger and places it back into the freezer before pushing the door closed. Kali just shakes her head with a small smile for her husband’s drama.

Gabriel lets out a theatrical sigh and slumps against the counter. “Low blood sugar, Castiel. The threat is real. At least tell me there will be actual food at this shindig tomorrow.”

“As pie is one of Dean’s favorite things, yes, I assume there will be adequate deserts tomorrow.”

“That will have to do,” Gabriel says with a sigh. “How about tonight? Got anything to hold me over?”

“I thought you would want to get cleaned up and then we can go out to get dinner.”

Gabriel fist pumps and kisses Kali on the cheek before sprinting toward the bedroom. “Be ready in twenty!” he calls over his shoulder.

Castiel rolls his eyes, pulls two bottles of water from the refrigerator, and hands one to Kali. “You willfully signed up for this. You knew exactly what you were getting into when you married him,” Castiel says, leading her to the couch.

Kali laughs lightly. “Oh yes, I knew. He’s worth it, despite the drama.” She takes a seat and opens the water. They sit in silence for a few moments, both watching the clear lights twinkle on the giant tree Castiel set up in front of the floor to ceiling windows. His only other concession to the holiday is the strand of white lights he strung up on the front of the house. Christmas has never been one of his favorite holidays. Growing up, it always seemed more about duty and awkward family meals than anything eliciting real joy.

They listen as the shower comes on and Gabriel starts singing an old ‘80s pop song. When he hits an especially high note they both chuckle, and then Kali tilts her head and says, "You can talk to me, you know. He can't hear you."

Castiel has been waiting for this. After all, Kali knows him way too well. He thinks about feigning confusion anyway, but there really isn't a point. “I like him. Quite a bit actually.”

 She nods. "And he likes you as well, or we would be eating Chinese takeout tomorrow instead of a home cooked meal."

''Yes, I suppose we get along quite well."

"But?"

Castiel frowns. "Friendship and romantic feelings are two different things.”

“So you believe he is only interested in friendship but you would like something more?” she asks astutely.

Castel pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Yes. No.  I don't know.  I mean, Kali, it's like I want to touch him all the time.  You, as much as anyone, should know how monumental that is,” he says pleadingly.

Kali makes a small supportive noise just as the water in the shower shuts off. She stands to put her empty bottle in the recycling bin. "I know you're frustrated, Castiel, especially since this kind of thing doesn't come easily to you. Let me meet this Dean Winchester tomorrow and I will let you know what I think," she offers, walking toward the bedroom.  She turns back with a fond smile. "After all, I have to make sure this man is worthy of my favorite brother-in-law."

* * *

* * *

Dean hates airports. It's not just the flying though the one time he did was more than enough for him. It's the crush of people, never knowing where he's supposed to be, and the endless waiting. Waiting for someone to leave, waiting for someone to come back.  First, it was Ash when he went away to school, and then Sammy when he went to Stanford, and now it’s back to waiting for Ash again.  Other people go and Dean is always here, just waiting.

Dean shifts Ben on his shoulders and continues to watch the gate. Missouri offered to keep Ben for him after school, but the boy was adamant that he wanted to see the airport. He's been chattering nonstop about jetliners and fuselages since they arrived.

It shouldn't be that hard to spot a tall, lanky guy with a mullet. They watch the crowd for several minutes until Ben finally exclaims, “There he is, daddy! There’s Ash!”

Dean scans the mass of people exiting the gate but doesn’t see him. “Where? I don’t see him, bug. Wave at him so he sees us.”

Ben continues to chatter loudly. He’s bouncing on Dean’s shoulders and waving frantically. “Here, Ash. Here we are! We came to get you!”

Finally, Dean spots him coming through the crowd and does a double take. The mullet, the one thing Ash always swore he would never change, is gone. Instead, Ash’s chestnut hair is shaved short on the sides and tousled into choppy spikes on the top. Dean hasn’t seen Ash’s hair that short since they were kids. Although it’s a bit of a shock, he has to admit that he kind of likes it.

Ben has attracted Ash’s attention and he is making his way through the mob toward them. Despite his hair, nothing else seems to have changed. He’s wearing what Dean is pretty sure is one of his old band t-shirts under a drab, blue-green army jacket, his jeans have a hole in one knee, and he’s wearing the same combat boots he’s had since they were fifteen.

“Dude, you didn’t tell me you were bringin’ the munchkin!” Ash exclaims as he pulls Dean into a firm hug.

Dean lets himself sink into the embrace for just a moment before he returns the hug and steps back. “You know how he is, gotta see the big jets and all.”

Ash reaches up and sweeps Ben off Dean’s shoulders, settling the child on his own shoulders instead. “It’s all good, man. I’m glad he’s here. I brought him something,” he says, starting toward baggage claim.

“Tomorrow’s Christmas, Ash,” Dean responds with a sigh as he falls into step beside them. “You don’t need to give him anything today.”

“What is it? What is it, Ash? Is it my Christmas present?” Ben babbles, his voice high with excitement. He wraps his hands around Ash’s face, covering his eyes and making the man laugh.

Ash ignores Dean completely, reaching up to pull Ben’s hands away and tickle the boy’s sides instead. “Nah, short round. Your gift is already waitin’ at mom’s. This is just somethin’ I picked up on the job. Was down at Ames the other day and a buddy gave me some old schematics from Project Gemini. Figured you’d like ‘em.”

Ben squeals excitedly. “Gemini started in 1961 and ended in 1965,” he says, his voice getting louder and more pressured. “The shuttles held two men, ‘cause there were no women astronauts then. They flew ten low-Earth-orbit missions.”

Ash laughs as Ben continues to list facts about the program, but Dean places on hand on Ben’s leg. “Ok, buddy, ok. Bring it down a notch. We get it, you’re excited.” Thankfully, Ben lowers his volume a little, though he continues to mutter breathlessly to Ash while Dean collects the luggage.

As they start out of the terminal, Ben begins to run his hands through Ash’s hair, making it stick up even more crazily. “Where’d all your hair go, Ash? Daddy made me get a haircut, but I don’t like the trimmers. Did your daddy make you get a haircut?” he questions, pulling the tufts of hair every which way. Dean forces away thoughts of another blue-eyed man with unruly hair.

Ash laughs. “Nah, just decided I needed a change,” he says, but there’s something in his tone that tells Dean there’s more to the story.

“Dr. Baddass finally gives up the mullet? Never thought I’d see the day,” Dean teases, leading the way to the car.

Ash grins sheepishly and reaches up to run his own hand through the short strands. “I thought about getting the tips frosted, go full out douchebag.”

Dean chuckles and makes a retching noise. “I don’t think I even know you anymore.”

Ash sticks his tongue out at Dean, then starts to ask Ben questions about school as they make their way through the parking garage. Once Ash’s luggage is stored in the trunk and Ben is buckled into his car seat, Dean turns to Ash expectantly. “To Ellen and Bobby’s?”

Ash responds with a shuttered look, his voice defensive. “Nah, I’ll see them tomorrow. Let’s just go home.”

Dean is silent as he puts the car in reverse and backs out of the space. He desperately wants to ask what is going on with Ellen, or comment on Ash referring to Dean’s house as _home_ , but he doesn’t. Even if he had the guts to open that can of worms, he certainly wouldn’t do it with Ben in the car. Instead, he punches the power button on the radio and shoves in a cassette.

Dean navigates out to the highway, the soft sounds of CCR doing little to drown out Ben’s constant chatter from the backseat. “Santa is coming tonight. You got to be good and go to sleep or Santa won’t come then we won’t get any presents. Mr. Novak says you can’t cry if you don’t get the things you want, but I sent Santa a letter so I know he’ll bring what I asked for. Mr. Novak will be at Christmas tomorrow at Grandma Ellen’s and it will be so much fun. Daddy and I picked out a present for Mr. Novak and his brother. Mr. Novak showed me a picture of his brother’s wife and she’s real pretty. He said she’s very nice and she likes little boys. Mr. Novak’s brother likes candy and he will probably give me some if I ask with polite grown-up words.” It is almost as if Ben doesn’t need to take a breath as he prattles on, completely oblivious to the fact that the adults aren’t responding to his monolog.

Every time Ben mentions _Mr. Novak_ , Ash glances over at Dean, who pretends not to notice. Dean has mentioned Cas to Ash a couple of times, so he knows Ash knows exactly who Ben is talking about. He hasn’t alluded to anything more than a new friendship with Ben’s teacher, but Ash isn’t dense. He knows Dean better than anyone, even Sam. Thankfully, though, he doesn’t comment.

The glow from the overabundance of lights decorating the front of the house can be seen from two blocks away as they start down their street. It took Dean hours to string them, with Ben handing the strands up to Dean on the ladder. While most of the houses in the neighborhood switched over to plain white lights in recent years, Dean continues to use the multi-colored lights that remind him of his childhood. No matter where John dragged them off to during the year, they always made the trip back to Lawrence for Christmas.

Ash lets out a low whistle as they pull into the driveway and Dean hits the remote for the garage door. “Merry Griswold Christmas,” he teases. “Almost expectin’ you to hit a button and start a light show synchronized to _Back in Black._ ”

“Shut up, di . . ., uh, jerk,” Dean catches himself before cursing in front of Ben. He usually does pretty well keeping his language clean around Ben, but Ash has a way of making him forget himself. “Our lights are freakin’ awesome, ain’t that right, buddy? You’re just jealous you gotta string lights on a palm tree in Cali.”

“We put up the lights all by ourselves this year,” Ben says in agreement. “I’m a big boy now, so I could help and we didn’t even need Uncle Sam ‘cause daddy has a ladder.” Dean reaches into the back seat to give his son a high-five.

Ash chuckles and climbs out of the car without responding. Score one, Winchester. While Dean collects the luggage from the trunk, Ash scoops Ben out of his booster seat and carries him into the house. Dean follows and drops the bags in the living room next to the tree. Dean and Sam divvied up the ornaments they had from when they were kids, so the tree was sparse the first few years. Between purchases and handmade ornaments, it is finally starting to fill in with Dean and Ben’s collection.

“Sweet tree, man,” Ash exclaims, walking up to take a closer look. Ben excitedly points out different ornaments, explaining where each one came from.

“Thanks. It’s gettin’ there,” Dean responds, turning toward the kitchen. “I got chicken and dumplings in the crockpot for dinner. Wanna help Ben set the table?”

While Ash and Ben pull out dishes and utensils, Dean transfers the crockpot liner to the serving dish. He was a little miffed when the family first started giving him household gifts for holidays and birthdays, but he has to admit that this fancy crock pot he got from Sam and Jess for his birthday is pretty awesome.

Sitting at the table, listening to Ben and Ash chat while they eat, Dean is struck by how domestic the whole scene is. To someone looking in from outside, they would look like a real family. Dean takes another serving of dumplings and uses it to push down the dull ache in his chest.

After dinner, Ash offers to clean up while Dean gives Ben his bath and gets him ready for bed. By the time they come back out, powder fresh and dressed in footy-pajamas, Ash has cleared everything away and loaded the dishwasher. If this is what it feels like to have a partner, to not have to do every little thing himself, it’s a feeling Dean could get used to. He shakes his head at the thought. Where the hell is all this melancholy coming from? He was expecting Ben to have a hard time with Ash staying with them, but it’s Dean that needs to get a grip on himself.

“Don’t forget the cookies for Santa,” Ben directs as Dean deposits him on a barstool in the kitchen. “Santa’s reindeers need lots of energy to make it all over the world. Santa should get a rocket ship, then the reindeers won’t get tired.”

“I’ll mention that to my buddies at NASA, little man. See what they come up with,” Ash responds with a chuckle.

Dean pulls freshly baked chocolate chip and decorated sugar cookies out of the container on the counter, passing them to Ben one by one for him to arrange on the colorful holiday platter. Ash pours a glass of milk to Ben’s specifications and adds it to the tray. Once Ben places the tray on the side table next to the tree, Dean declares it time for bed.

“You gotta go to bed, too, daddy. Ash, too. Or Santa won’t come and there won’t be any presents.”

“Don’t worry, bug. We’ll be right behind you. I’d hate for Santa to skip our house.”

Ben climbs up on Ash’s lap where he sits in the old recliner. He puts one hand on Ash’s cheek and presses the side of his face to the other cheek for a moment. Dean turns away to swallow the lump in his throat, then herds his son down the hallway to his room, leaving Ash in the living room.

In honor of the holiday, Ben has allowed Dean to mix a few Christmas carols into his bedtime concert. He starts with _Hey Jude_ and by the time he finishes the last verse of _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,_ Ben is fast asleep. He kisses his son’s forehead lightly before backing out of the room and closing the door. He turns toward his room to put the guitar away and runs into Ash, who is leaning against the doorframe.

“Man, I miss listening to you play. Your voice has gotten deeper,” Ash says softly. His blue eyes twinkle with the reflection of the Christmas lights from down the hallway. The way he’s slouched in the doorway, it wouldn’t take more than a slight dip of Dean’s head to press their lips together.

He almost does it. At first, he isn’t even sure why he doesn’t. But his son is asleep across the hall and he still needs to put his presents under the tree and dammit, Ash left and he isn’t coming back and his eyes are the wrong shade of blue. Dean nearly laughs at the last thought, but he doesn’t do that either. Instead, he just clears his throat and steps past Ash to set his guitar in the stand.

“Age does that,” he says rather than acknowledging the first part of Ash’s comment. He goes to the closet and starts to pull out wrapped presents, stacking them beside the dresser. Although he bought more than he should have, Dean wishes he had the money to buy more. There are a few key things on Ben’s list he hadn’t been able to swing. Some of them he passed off to family members, but he hopes Ben isn’t too disappointed by what he doesn’t get.

Ash takes half of the stack and exits the room ahead of him. Together they arrange the packages under the tree, tucking a few back under the branches. Some are labeled from Santa while others indicate that they’re from Dean. “Shoulda had my gifts sent here instead, we coulda had our Christmas here tomorrow before we head to mom’s,” Ash says, placing the last gift on top of the stack.

 _Our Christmas._ Dean remembers the Christmases they had while they were living together. It seemed silly to drag a full-size tree up four flights of stairs to their apartment, so every year they talked the tree farmer into giving them a branch that had been trimmed from one of the trees. They stuck the branch in a little stand Ash made from scraps he scavenged in Bobby’s junkyard. Dean is pretty sure the metal was once part of the frame from a ’72 Cadillac. They wrapped a single strand of lights around it and rather than real ornaments, they took turns hanging random crap from the needles. Dean’s favorite decoration was a star Ash made by gluing an assortment of condom wrappers together.

Christmas morning, they would curl up on the couch next to their tree, sip eggnog with too much rum, and open their gifts to each other while classic rock renditions of Christmas carols played on the stereo. The gifts were always wildly inappropriate and usually sexual. The best Christmases were the ones when the gifts were tested before heading out to meet the family for lunch.

 _Our Christmas_ is something a family has, Dean almost snaps, suddenly angry. _Our Christmas_ is something we’ll never have again because you left. You’re just a guest at our Christmas, Dean wants to yell. But he doesn’t, because it isn’t Ash’s fault Dean is alone. Yes, Ash left Lawrence, but Dean could have gone with him, could have started a new life with him in California. He chose Lawrence, and his father, over their life together. The anger drains out of him as quickly as it came, leaving him feeling drained and depressed. He bites back the unexpected emotion and stalks to the kitchen.

“You want a beer?” he forces out, praying his voice doesn’t sound tense. At Ash’s affirmative, Dean grabs one of the cans of PBR he stocked specifically for Ash and the last of the Copperhead Pale Ale for himself before dropping down onto the couch.

“You okay?” Ash says hesitantly, popping the tab on the can.

Dean almost tells him. After a lifetime spent together, as friends and then lovers, there isn’t a lot they can’t say to each other. He knows Ash won’t be pissed at him or mock him for being emotional, but he doesn’t want to ruin the holiday with depressing melodrama. “Yeah, man. Just tired. All this holiday crap, plus all the stress with Ben and school, its wearin’ me down.”

Ash cocks one eyebrow and Dean is sure he’s going to call him on his bullshit, but then he motions toward the bottle in Dean’s hand with his own can. “That why you started drinkin’ that pansy microbrew shit?” he asks with a smirk.

“Bite me, dickhead. Cas brought it for movie night,” Dean retorts gratefully, fighting back a grin. “At least it’s in a bottle. They gotta put that swill you drink in cans ‘cause it’s so caustic it’ll etch the glass.”

Ash shotguns the rest of the can, then lets out a loud belch and smashes the can on his forehead. “Puts hair on your chest,” he jokes, “which will come in handy if you ever hit puberty.”

Dean flips him the middle finger, then drops his head onto the back of the couch and closes his eyes. They sit in silence for a few moments, the hum of the refrigerator and the quiet ticking of the electric heat the only noises. After a few minutes, there’s the slush-swoosh of a plow-truck clearing the street in front of the house.

“So,” Ash says quietly. “I get to meet the great and wonderful Mr. Novak tomorrow.”

Dean nods slightly, still not opening his eyes. “He’s bringin’ his brother and sister-in-law. Couldn’t let them eat at a restaurant for Christmas.”

“You’re a sucker for this holiday shit. Christmas ain’t exactly the second coming.”

“Christmas should be spent with family."

“Yeah, guess that’s why I drag my ass back here every year,” Ash says softly. “Ben seems real attached to the guy.”

Dean cracks one eye and looks at Ash. “He’s been great with Ben. School woulda been a mess if it wasn’t for everything he’s done. This autism stuff ain’t easy.”

Ash nods. “Yeah, I get it. Just, seems like Ben ain’t the only one attached.”

Dean opens the other eye and sits up. No point being evasive or acting like he doesn’t know what Ash means. “Guess not. We’re friends.”

Ash nods again. “More than friends?”

“I thought so. I went for it when he was over for the movie with Charlie, but it was a fiery crash and burn.” Dean lets out a sigh.

“He just not that into you? Or not into guys?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not sure. I coulda swore he was bi, at least. He’s got that look sometimes, you know? A straight guy don’t look at another guy like that. To muck it up even more, he might have something goin’ with the other teacher in his room. She’s prickly and doesn’t seem to be his type, but hell, guess I don’t really know what his type is.”

“You’re outta practice,” Ash teases. “Remember that guy that hit on Benny in Kansas City?”

Dean chuckles and picks up the story. “Yeah, Benny was so wasted he didn’t realize the guy wanted to take him home. Wish I had a smartphone back then. Dre would pay good money for a picture of the look on Benny’s face when Romeo grabbed his balls.”

Ash laughs, then snags Dean’s beer out of his hand and drains the last few inches. “The hell? You and your goddamn sister, man, two of a kind,” Dean grouses.

 Ash shrugs without remorse. “So maybe you just gotta grab his balls,” he says with a smirk.

“Sure, asshole, I’ll just walk up to him in Bobby’s living room and snag a handful, see how it plays out,” Dean snorts.

“The way to a man’s heart ain’t through his stomach, kemosabe.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “So, Oprah, you just givin’ out advice today, or you gonna tell me why you’re avoiding your mother?”

Ash sags back against the arm of the couch, pulling one leg up under him. “It’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it.”

Ash sighs, running one hand through his cropped hair. “I fucking hate this haircut, man.”

Dean raises one eyebrow but stays silent.

“Pretty sure Charybdis Software is goin’ under. Probably within the next year. Somethin’ got jacked on the last couple projects we did and money ain’t flowin’ the way it should.”

“Okay.”

“So, I’ve been interviewin’ at other companies on the coast. I wasn’t at Ames for a project. I was meetin’ with a guy about taking on one of their subdivisions,” he admits. “The hair might have been Badass, but Cali wasn’t really feelin’ it.”

“So you’re interviewing for other jobs. What does that have to do with Ellen?”

Ash glances away, staring out the window at the snow coming down just beyond the porch through the open curtains. He swallows hard before he answers. “A guy mom went to high school with has a software and robotics company in Kansas City. She gave him my number and she’s pissed that I haven’t called him back about an interview. You know how she is about me movin’ back.”

Dean feels like the breath has been punched out of him. “No way you’d make bank in Kansas like California,” he says, not trusting himself to say what he’s really thinking. Ash could move back. Does he want Ash to move back? What would happen if Ash moved back? He’s never allowed himself to think about it because it never seemed like an option before.

Ash shrugs, the movement small and stilted. He doesn’t look at Dean. Instead, he looks down the hallway. “It’s a pretty good deal. With the cost of living being lower here, it’s not much of a cut.”

The words feel strangled in Dean’s throat, but he forces them out. “So why haven’t you called him back? You don’t want to come home?”

Another shrug. This time, Ash does look at Dean. His blue eyes are piercing in the glow from the Christmas lights. “I’m not really sure there’s anything left for me in Kansas,” he murmurs.

Dean closes his eyes and leans back against the couch, his eyes burning. There are a dozen things he wants to say. He wants to tell Ash to go, that he should stay with his mother the rest of the holiday and leave Dean and Ben alone. He wants to drop to his knees in front of Ash and beg him to move back to Lawrence, to convince him that there is a life left for him in Kansas. He wants to swear and rant and ask why now; when he’s finally feeling like he wants to move on.

He doesn’t say any of those things. When he opens his eyes, Ash has looked away again, so he forces a yawn and stands up instead. They deal with the cookies and milk, Ash guzzling the milk and downing several cookies before Dean puts the remaining few back in the plastic container. He gathers the extra bedding from the hall closet and helps Ash make up the couch. The silence is awkward as they work, neither willing to say what they’re both thinking. What happens to them if Ash moves back? What happens to them if he doesn’t? Does it really matter either way?

Dean wishes Ash a good night and retreats down the hall to his room. As usual, he leaves the door cracked so that Ben can come in if he wakes up during the night. He strips, and then pulls on clean boxers and the holiday pajama bottoms that were a gag gift from Sam and Jess last year. The pants are soft fleece and covered in tiny penguins dressed like Star Wars characters wearing Santa hats. He pulls on an old, worn Foreigner t-shirt and climbs under the covers. He can hear Ash moving around out in the living room, padding to the bathroom, then back down the hallway. Instead of wallowing, he ignores the cold weight in his chest and forces himself to focus on getting to sleep so that he can be up before Ben. Santa doesn’t have time for an existential crisis.

When he wakes up again, the room is dark. The outside lights have shut off with the timer, so it has to be after midnight. At first, he isn’t sure what woke him. Then he hears a noise in the hallway, followed by the soft whooshing noise of his door opening and then closing. Steps, too heavy to be Ben, are followed by the covers being pulled up and a warm body sliding into the space behind him.

Ash presses against him. One arm curls over Dean’s hip as he nuzzles into the back of Dean’s neck.  “Your couch sucks ass,” he whispers, squirming to get comfortable.

“I know,” Dean whispers back. He’s lulled back to sleep by the soft puffs of Ash’s breathing and the easy rise and fall of his chest warm against Dean’s back. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are a turning point in the story, so I've gone back to the way it started with one POV in each chapter. The next chapter will be completely Dean's POV.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

It’s been snowing steadily since before dawn. Castiel is grateful that it’s only a few blocks to the address Dean provided for lunch because the Camaro slips and slides around the few corners, making the quarter-mile drive more treacherous than he likes. Rear-wheel drive isn’t the most efficient thing for driving in the snow. For the hundredth time, Castiel thinks about buying a second car so he can park the IROC during the winter.

The address leads to a sprawling two-story farmhouse on the edge of town. Castiel has jogged past it more than once and he remembers being jealous of the gorgeous flower beds surrounding the front porch during the summer. There are already several cars in the long curved driveway and Castiel spots what must be the Impala near the two story garage. The car is long, black, and gleaming even under several inches of snow.

Someone has obviously been keeping up with clearing the driveway because even though Castiel parks near the street, there is a clear path up to the wrap-around porch. Gabriel wrenches the large bag of presents out of the back seat while Castiel balances a casserole dish filled with a peppermint and chocolate ice cream concoction. If asked, he’ll admit that Meg helped him make it. Kali carries a brown paper bag containing four six-packs of Winterfest Pale Ale from the microbrewery Dean had enjoyed before. Although the path is shoveled, Castiel goes first so that Kali can follow in his footsteps through the dusting that has continued to fall.

The porch railings are festooned with garlands and bows, making the house look festive. Even though it is daylight, fat multi-colored lights glow where they circle the windows and door and wrap around the porch roof. To finish off the winter wonderland, a waist-high light-up plastic Santa and Mrs. Claus sit just to the left of the steps, under a large bow window.

There is a crisp bite to the early afternoon air and Castiel’s breath hangs in moist clouds around his head as he climbs the porch stairs. He raises his hand to knock, but the door is yanked open before he can and Ben barrels out onto the porch in his stocking feet, Benson clutched to his chest. Lively Christmas music floats through the door behind him. “Mr. Novak, you’re here! And this must be your brother and his wife!” he exclaims loudly, pushing past Castiel to where Gabriel and Kali stand. “Oooh, you are pretty, just like Mr. Novak said!” Kali chuckles at Ben’s enthusiasm.

Momentarily distracted by Ben, Castiel doesn’t notice Dean’s arrival in the open doorway. “Heya, Cas,” he says, the husky resonance drawing Castiel’s attention back to the door with a start.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel murmurs, temporarily stunned by how good Dean looks. He’s still wearing his usual dark jeans, but the normal plaid flannel has been exchanged for a soft, dark green Henley. The light scruff covering his jawline suggests that he forgot to shave this morning, but Castiel isn’t complaining.

“You can come in,” Dean says with a grin, stepping back out of the doorway.

“Wait!” Ben yells. “They have to get their Santa pictures.” He grabs Kali’s hand and starts to pull her over to the Santa and Mrs. Claus.

“Ben, they don’t, I mean, that’s for family. They don’t have to if they don’t want to,” Dean stammers, trailing off with a slight blush.

“Santa pictures?” Castiel inquires, squinting slightly.

Dean’s blush deepens. “We do this thing every year where we each get our pictures taken in front of the Santa. Ellen puts them in a book. We been doin’ it since we were kids, so it’s kinda cool to see how everyone has changed. But you don’t have to do it if it’s weird.”

Castiel glances back at Gabriel, who has produced a sucker out his pocket for Ben. The other man shrugs and gives him a thumbs-up. “We’d be honored to be included in your tradition. What do we do?”

Dean slips back into the house and returns with a camera, pulling the door shut behind him. Castiel notices that Dean is also wearing only socks, and he finds it oddly adorable. Castiel, Gabriel, and Kali place their cargo near the porch railing while Ben directs the three adults to crouch around the plastic figures. Dean mutters to himself and messes with the buttons on the top of the digital camera before snapping a few pictures.

“I guess I should actually introduce you to my family,” Castiel says as Dean shows them the best of the bunch on the camera’s screen. “Kali and Gabriel Novak, meet Dean and Ben Winchester.”

The adults shake hands and exchange pleasantries until Dean seems to realize that they’re still standing outside. “We don’t normally keep guests shivering on the porch,” he says with a chuckle and pushes the door open again. “Come on in.”

Castiel, Gabriel, and Kali retrieve their offerings and follow Dean and Ben into the house. Remembering that Dean and Ben are both shoeless, Castiel asks if they should also take their shoes off. “You don’t have to. It’s not a big deal and Ellen’s not a stickler about it,” Dean assures them.

All three Novaks choose to take their shoes off, if only due to the frozen mud clinging to them from the walk up the driveway. Dean doesn’t comment but his smile seems appreciative, making Castiel feel like they passed an unspoken test. Dean places them on a rubber mat with several other pairs of shoes.  

Dean turns to his left to lead them through a wide doorway into the living room.  A large evergreen tree fills the room with the smell of pine where it sits in front of the bow window, packed with ornaments, lights, and garland. Next to the tree, a large flat-screen television takes up the entire wall. Castiel recognizes Ralphie from _A Christmas Story_ as he’s pushed down the slide by grumpy Santa.

Through another doorway at the back of the room, Castiel can see what must be the dining room, where Sam, Jess, and a man Castiel doesn’t recognize are setting a large table. Two older men and Jo sit in the living room, bickering over the remote control.

“Hey, this is Castiel, Gabriel, and Kali,” Dean announces, attracting everyone’s attention. He motions around the room, introducing each person in turn. Dean’s father appears younger than Castiel pictured him from Dean’s description, but Bobby is exactly as he imagined, snarled baseball cap and all. He smiles at Sam, Jess, and Jo in turn, but Castiel’s eyes linger on the man in the dining room when Dean introduces him as Ash.

Jo’s brother and Dean’s ex-boyfriend. He definitely isn’t what Castiel was expecting. After the way Jo and Charlie described him, Castiel wasn’t expecting him to be so clean-cut. He had been picturing someone rougher around the edges, a slacker or a trouble maker. Instead, Ash is attractive with penetrating blue eyes and short, tousled hair.

The only concession to Castiel’s imagination is the worn band t-shirt he wears. Castiel does a double take when he recognizes it. Dean had the same shirt on at the parent night a few weeks ago, with the same rip near the bottom seam and the same spot of white paint on the left sleeve. Ash is wearing Dean’s shirt. Castiel is surprised by the cold jealousy that flashes through him. A moment later, he realizes he must have been staring, because Ash is staring right back at him, his eyes narrowed and calculating. Castiel blushes and looks away quickly, but not before catching Ash’s smirk and the way he quirks one eyebrow in amusement.

Thankfully, Dean doesn’t seem to notice the exchange. He takes the bag of gifts from Gabriel, making a tisking noise. “You didn’t have to bring gifts,” he says softly. “You’re guests.”

“We wanted to, Dean. This is very generous of you and your family,” Castiel responds, forcing himself to focus on Dean rather than the man he can still feel watching him from the other room. “It’s just a few small things.”

Dean places the gifts near the large pile already heaped under the tree and herds the newcomers from the living room toward the other side of the house. Christmas music still plays from somewhere off to the right and a woman’s smooth alto starts to sing along when the carol switches to a hymn. They stop in the doorway of the kitchen, where a slender brunette woman sways lightly to the music as she stirs a pot of mashed potatoes.

“This is Ellen, the woman who keeps us all on the straight and narrow,” Dean announces. He steps up behind her, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. Once again, Castiel is envious of the easy way that Dean shows affection.

The woman turns with a smile and a laugh.  “And it’s a full-time job, let me tell you,” she confides, her grin open and welcoming. “You must be Castiel, Gabriel, and Kali. We’re happy you could be here. Welcome.”

“We’re happy to be here,” Castiel responds. “This is very generous of you.”

Ellen cuts him off. “Any friends of Dean’s are welcome here,” she says, and then motioning toward the casserole he holds, “That go in the freezer?”

“Yes, ma’am,”

“Call me Ellen,” she returns, taking the dish from him and fitting it into the freezer. “We don’t stand on formality here.”

“Thank you, Ellen. We also brought some beer from that microbrewery you like, Dean. It’s their winter pale ale.”

Dean takes the bag from Kali with a grin. “That’s awesome, man. I’ll run this out to the fridge in the garage. You can head back into the living room and hang out. I’ll be there in a sec.”

Castiel and Gabriel wander back toward the living room, but Kali elects to stay in the kitchen with Ellen, having struck up a conversation about the herbs she added to the mashed potatoes. It isn’t long before Gabriel insinuates himself with Bobby and John, arguing loudly with Sam and Jess about whether or not Die Hard is a Christmas movie.

Having never seen Die Hard, Castiel doesn’t have much to add to the conversation. He leans against the doorframe, envious at how easily Gabriel fits in with Dean’s family. Before long, the conversation has evolved into Gabriel telling stories about the exploits of his famous clients. Gabriel has always had that way about him, a magnetism that draws people in.

Caught up in studying Dean’s family, Castiel doesn’t notice the presence beside him. He tenses at the weight of a hand on his shoulder and turns to see Ash slouched insolently beside him. “Castiel Novak,” he drawls, squeezing Castiel’s shoulder slightly. “You’re not exactly what I pictured.”

Castiel wants to pull away, the unwanted contact like ants under his skin, but he doesn’t. Instead, he narrows his eyes slightly and glances over at Ash. “I can’t say that you are what I imagined either.”

Ash barks a laugh and leans back against the wall, releasing Castiel’s shoulder to cross his arms across his chest instead. “The way Dean talks, I figured you’d be some dorky guy, but you’re more the hot teacher type. He’s been holdin’ out on me.”

Castiel turns to face Ash, but his retort dies in his throat at the way Ash’s eyes rake down his body before coming back up to meet his gaze.  “I take it back. You are more as they described you than I first realized,” he mutters, returning Ash’s eye contact without flinching. He isn’t sure if the scrutiny is supposed to be a compliment or if Ash is trying to cause trouble.

A genuine grin creeps up, replacing the smirk. “Oh, I’m sure I’m exactly how they described me. I could promise to behave, but I won’t ‘cause everyone would know it’s a lie,” he says with a wink, then adds conversationally, “Dean tells me you got an old Camaro he’s gonna fix up,”

The sudden shift in topic confuses Castiel for a moment and he takes a few seconds to study Ash before responding. “I, yes. An ’87 IROC-Z. There’s some rust that Dean has offered to help me take care of.”

“Dean’s a hell of a body-guy. He can tear an engine down in his sleep, but body work is what he loves. I had a Firebird in high school he stripped and painted. My old man said he bought it from Bobby, but I figure the old coot gave it to him to keep me and Dean out of his hair for the summer. I pretty much sat around while Dean did all the work.” He finishes with a laugh, glancing into the living room where Bobby is chuckling at something Gabriel said, Ben curled up on his lap.

“I imagine this project will go much the same way,” Castiel admits with a small smile, then he remembers something Ash said. “Wait, Bobby isn’t your father? I thought he and Ellen were married.”

“They are, but yeah, my dad died when I was 15. The end of that summer actually. He never got to see me actually drive that damn car. Mom and Bobby got married a couple years later. He and dad were best friends, guess it made sense that Bobby would inherit us.”

Castiel laughs at last comment, as he was intended to. “Losing a father is hard. Mine passed about ten years ago, but it’s never easy,” he says softly.

“Guess that’s why I didn’t push too hard when Dean decided to stay here.”

There’s no inflection in the comment and Castiel isn’t even sure what it means, but when he meets Ash’s eyes he senses that Ash is trying to tell him something important. Although he and Dean have talked and texted more and more frequently since Halloween, Dean rarely mentions Ash. Castiel knows they dated from Charlie, but he doesn’t know the details of why they are no longer together. “Family is important,” he chooses to say, unsure whether it is an observation on what Ash said or not.

Ash nods, just a slight movement, still not breaking the eye contact. “Especially to Dean,” he says thoughtfully. He smiles then, the smirk back in place. “So, ‘nough of this getting to know ya crap. The real question is whether I’m recruitin’ you for my team,” he says, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard in the living room. Immediately, Jo whips her head around to pin him with a glare.

“No way. I got dibs.  I knew him first,” she exclaims, pulling herself up from where she was sitting on the floor in front of the couch to stalk toward them.

Now, Castiel is even more confused than before. “Team?” he manages weakly.

“You’re both outa luck. He’s already on my team,” another familiar voice adds. “You can have Gabe, though,” Dean adds sweetly, sliding his hand up to cup Castiel’s elbow. Though it is unexpected, Castiel doesn’t tense as he did when Ash touched him. Instead, he leans into it.

Ash shrugs. “I’ll take Gabe. Dude seems like he’s full of untapped potential.”

“Would one of you please tell me what you are talking about?” Castiel demands in exasperation.

Dean chuckles, using his hand on Castiel’s arm to guide him into the living room. “Trivial Pursuit, man. It’s a tradition. Sam and Jess always pick each other, so the three of us end up divvying up the elderly,” Dean explains, stopping next to the couch. He still doesn’t release his gentle grip on Castiel’s arm. “But this year, we have enough people for three on each team.”

“You better watch who you’re callin’ elderly, boy,” Johns growls. “I’ll put you on your ass in front of your friends.” Castiel is taken aback until everyone in the living room laughs at his threat. Castiel is fascinated by the way John teases his sons. He doesn’t ever remember being affectionately teased by his father in his entire life.

Ellen appears in the doorway of the dining room. “You all just standin’ around or you gonna help us carry everything? Sooner it gets on the table, sooner we eat.”

With everyone taking a few items, it doesn’t take long to carry all of the food to the dining room. Soon the long rectangular table is bursting with steaming dishes. The room is a bustle of activity as everyone shuffles to find a place to sit. Dean passes out bottles of the pale ale to everyone who wants one, skipping Castiel and John. Castiel recalls that Dean said his father is a recovering alcoholic as well. Castiel is happy to find himself between Dean and Sam, but the seating certainly doesn’t limit interaction with the others at the table.

Lunch is a raucous affair with multiple conversations happening at the same time, often with people talking over each other. It is like nothing Castiel has ever experienced before. Meals with his family have always been quiet, subdued events, especially when his father was alive. In contrast, Castiel sees John throw a green bean at Sam during a particularly heated discussion of the latest episode of _Hell on Wheels._ There are a few shocked chuckles around the table as Sam sheepishly picks up the vegetable and hands it back to John and Ellen gives them both a stern look.

Despite the chaos, Castiel finds that he enjoys himself immensely. At first, he is slightly uncomfortable about sitting directly across from Ash, but he soon welcomes the opportunity to observe him. Ash is loud and irreverent, often responding with sarcasm and inappropriate innuendos that earn him a raised eyebrow from his mother. Despite this, his comments often impress Castiel with their cleverness. He references pop culture books and movies in one breath and then follows up with philosophy and in-depth scientific theory. Castiel has a hard time deciding what to think of him. In many ways, he and Dean interact much the same way as Sam and Dean. If he wasn’t aware that they had dated, Castiel is sure he would have never realized it from their interactions. They seem only like very good friends, brothers even.

Strangely, though, if Castiel isn’t mistaken, Ash seems to be flirting with him. At first, Castiel takes his teasing and the way he directs most of his comments directly across the table to be an attempt to include a guest in the conversations. After a while, however, it becomes clear that he’s making no effort to engage Gabriel, who is sitting next to him. Every time Castiel looks up he sees Ash watching him, a look in his eye that makes Castiel flush at the memory of Ash assessing his body earlier.

Castiel does his best to ignore him until Ash looks directly at him while making a particularly racy innuendo about propositioning a stranger in a bar. He’s about to make a pointed response when he feels Dean go tense beside him. “Maybe some people have better manners than that,” Dean growls softly, glaring at Ash.

Ash raises his hands in mock surrender. “Stand down, amigo. It was a joke,” he says. Although he appears to be trying to placate, the smirk is back and his tone is slightly challenging. Castiel gets the feeling once again that he is caught in the middle of a conversation he doesn’t understand.

There’s a moment of tense silence as the others at the table notice the exchange. This certainly feels more like the family dinners Castiel remembers, pointed barbs and sulking glares being passed between his father and Gabriel. After a moment, Bobby clears his throat. “We gonna eat dessert or what? The kid here is gonna vibrate outa his seat if he don’t get to open his presents soon.”

Dean relaxes a fraction as Ellen stands up. “Sure thing. I’ll help you grab the plates, Ellen,” he offers, pushing his chair back. The scrape of the legs on the hardwood floor is jarringly loud in the silence. Jo also rises and follows them into the kitchen.

By the time they return, the conversation has started back up. Castiel chances a glance at Ash and finds that the man is still watching him. His flirtatious expression is replaced by something more measuring; as if Castiel is a puzzle he is trying to figure out. Castiel pointedly looks away as dessert is divided up and passed out, a veritable smorgasbord of different confections that has Gabriel smacking his lips in glee.

Clearing the table after lunch is a group effort. When Castiel enters the kitchen carrying a stack of plates, he’s surprised to see that Gabriel has donned an apron along with Sam and Jo and is helping to scrape dishes and load the dishwasher. His brother just gives a cocky salute when he raises one eyebrow. Gabriel is usually the first person to try to weasel his way out of helping to clean up, so Castiel is glad the Winchester-Singer-Harvelle family seem to be such a good influence on him. With everyone pitching in, it doesn’t take long to completely clear the dining room.

While Ellen and Jess set up the living room for the gift opening, Jo recruits Ash and Dean to help her carry more presents in from the garage. Castiel is amazed by the number of gifts and is glad that he decided to bring gifts for Dean and Ben, as well as something for Ellen and Bobby as a thank you for inviting them. Gabriel saunters over to stand next to Castiel where he is trying to stay out of the way.

“Really highlights how dysfunctional our family was, huh?” Gabriel says, watching their hosts joke and laugh.

Castiel nods absently, not really listening to his brother. Dean and Ash have just walked back in from the garage, each carrying a few more packages. As they place them on the stacks already under the tree, Ash brushes Dean’s arm with his own. Dean gives him a soft smile and then flicks his eyes to where Castiel and Gabriel are standing. Ash leans over, his lips almost brushing Dean’s ear, and murmurs something that makes Dean glance away quickly.

Unfortunately, Gabriel is well aware of where Castiel’s attention is. “They seem to have worked out whatever had their panties in a bunch at the table,” he offers. He reaches over and snags a handful of cookies off the sideboard next to them.

“Apparently,” Castiel returns. Jo has joined her brother and Dean next to the tree and an argument about whether to leave the television on during the gift opening has started. Ralphie and his brother are running from the bullies on the screen. Before Raphael, Castiel had never even seen _A Christmas Story._

Gabriel pops another cookie in his mouth, chewing as he talks. “The tension seems to revolve around you, little bro. Now, I know I don’t know the backstory here, but any git can see that Dean’s got the hots for you. I just haven’t figured out how California boy feels about it,” he says conversationally, like he’s commenting on the weather.

Castiel turns to him, eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, there’s clearly history between them, but he was flirting with you. Then your man-crush put the kibash—”

Castiel cuts him off with an exasperated sigh. “No, Gabriel. Not Ash. What makes you say that Dean 'has the hots' for me?” he snaps, making agitated air quotes.

“Well, he invited you to his family’s Christmas and he’s willing to put up with complete strangers to have you here, he watches you when he thinks you aren't looking, and he was obviously irritated when Cinderella was seducing you during lunch. I’d say it’s pretty obvious.”

Castiel rolls his eyes at Gabriel’s play on Ash’s name. “Charlie said I should ask him out.”

“So do it.”

Castiel sighs. “It’s not that easy. There is Ben to think about. Even if Dean and I are mutually attracted to each other, it’s not prudent to rush into something without considering the consequences.”

“Sweet Jesus, Cassie, do you always have to sound like you’re reading out of a dictionary?”

“Gabriel,”

“Okay, okay,” Gabriel relents. “So think about the consequences. Talk about the consequences. Make lists and pie charts and statistical analyses of the consequences. But just make a move. You think the kid is gonna get hurt? What makes you so sure it wouldn’t work out? Maybe havin’ you around would be good for the squirt.”

“I don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to relationships,” Castiel reminds him wryly.

“Fuck that, Castiel,” Gabriel spits out, ignoring Castiel’s hushed rebuke for his language. “No one has a good track record at relationships. You just do it until something sticks.”

“But Ben—”

“No, this isn’t about Ben. I mean, look at me and Kali. I’m not exactly marriage material, but it didn’t matter to her. She made me want to do whatever it took to make her happy. I’m still not sure if I’m doing it right, but it must be working ‘cause she’s still here. When you meet the right person, all the pieces fall together. Things that didn’t work before suddenly do.”

“It’s scary,” Castiel admits softly.

“Damn right it is,” Gabriel agrees. His eyes find Kali where she’s standing on the opposite side of the room talking to Ellen and John and his expression softens. “But it’s worth it.”

“I want what you have.”

“Then reach out and take it,” Gabriel responds, then narrows his eyes and adds, “And don’t think I haven’t noticed how much Dean-o touches you. Come on, cupcake, you flinch when I hug you, but you look like you’re gonna swoon when he grabs your arm.”

Castiel blushes but admits that Gabriel is right. “I don’t know why, but I want him to touch me.”

Gabriel waggles his eyebrows comically. “Aww, Cassie, do we have to have the good touch/bad touch talk? You know, if it’s covered by your bathing suit, it’s private.”

Castiel sighs. He is honestly surprised that Gabriel managed to have a serious conversation that lasted as long as it did. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to respond because Ellen calls everyone into the living room to pass out presents.

This, too, is a chaotic, jubilant muddle. Gift giving was a sedate, well-organized event in the Novak family. They took turns opening the few gifts they got while being appropriately grateful. Wrapping paper was folded and placed into a garbage bag, certainly not balled up and thrown at each other like Jo and Ash are doing.

Dean’s family pass out gifts randomly, meaning that Castiel misses even seeing what some of the gifts are. He sees Ellen with a soft cashmere sweater folded on her lap and Jo lets out a whoop as she holds two tickets aloft. Bobby and John both receive several movies and what looks like hunting paraphernalia, while Sam receives a set of golf clubs. The majority of Ben’s gifts, including Castiel’s, are astronomy related. Dean seems to like the box set of old black and white gangster movies that Castiel gives him, and Castiel appreciates the certificate Dean and Ben give him for a series of classes on bee-keeping being held at the University of Kansas in the spring.  

“Leaving the best for last,” Ash announces, pulling two large boxes out from behind the couch. “Get over here, Big Ben.”

Ben squeals in delight and clambers over Bobby to plop down beside Ash. He sets Benson the coffee table. The box is easily three feet wide and four feet long, but it takes Ben less than five seconds to unwrap it. Inside the paper are several smaller boxes that have been wrapped together. Each box has the words _littleBits_ _Electronics_ on the side. Dean’s soft gasp is almost drowned out by Ben’s yelp of delight. He immediately starts rambling, touching the side of each box and listing what sounds like electronics components.

“Ash, man, this is too much,” Dean begins.

Bobby’s gruff bark cuts him off. “What the hell is it?”

Ash grins and holds up one of the boxes. “They’re electronics kits. The modules all snap together and he can make all kinds of stuff. Some guys I knew at MIT came out with them.”

“The box says twelve and up, Ash,” Ellen points out. Ben is still excitedly sifting through the boxes, muttering to himself. Dean looks frustrated.

Ash rolls his eyes. “He’s almost six. I took apart the microwave and fixed it when I was ten. The kids not like everyone else. He needs stuff to challenge him.”

Castiel can’t help but agree with Ash’s assessment, even though the gift seems to have upset Dean for some reason. Ben’s intelligence is startling sometimes and even the gifted teacher has mentioned to Castiel that he has trouble stimulating him. Castiel clears his throat. “Mr. Tran can use these kits in his lessons with Ben. He’s been struggling to find topics that are both motivating and challenging for Ben.”

Ash gives Castiel a blinding smile. “See, it’s not like he’s gonna build a Manhattan Project with supervision.”

“That’s not the point, man. I saw these on his list. There’s over five hundred dollars’ worth of kits here. It’s too much,” Dean says. He sounds overwhelmed.

Ash cocks his head to the side, then shrugs. “Money’s somethin’ I got enough of. The kid wanted them and I knew you couldn’t afford to get them for him. It ain’t a big deal. If you’re gonna be a bitch about it, though, I’ll just take your present home with me.” He ignores Ellen’s reproach at his language and pushes a long flat package across the floor toward Dean.

Dean looks tense; as if he’s not sure he should open it. He fiddles with the edge of the paper, glancing between it and Ash.

 “Come on, boy, just open it,” Bobby grouses.

Dean takes the edge of the wrapping paper and carefully rips across the top of the package. Inside is a plain cardboard box. He pulls the last bits of paper away and lifts off the lid. There’s a moment of shocked silence, then a gasp.

Castiel can see the edge of what’s inside the box and it looks like a guitar. Dean once told him that he plays for Ben at night, but he isn’t sure what it is about this guitar that is causing Dean’s reaction.

“Where? When? This is just,” Dean stammers. He looks from the instrument to Ash, his eyes wide. “How the hell did you get this, man?”

Ash grins widely, crawling over to look down into the box. “Buddy of mine runs sound at a club in San Jose. He was doin’ a set there, so I took it down and got backstage.”

“You just had a mahogany Martin layin’ around?” Dean asks incredulously. “Dude, this is a two thousand dollar guitar. Garth had one in the shop.”

Ash shrugs again. “He may have told me you were droolin’ on it.”

John reaches out and pulls the box toward him. “You two need a private moment or you gonna tell us what the hell is goin’ on? What’s this chicken scratch?”

Dean relents to lift the instrument out of the box. He cradles it lovingly as he raises it to show everyone who has been watching the exchange with confusion. There’s a looping scrawl in black on the rich brown body. Dean points to the signature. “It’s signed by Tom Waits,” he says, his voice a little hoarse.

This time, it’s Ellen that gasps. “Like _Picture in a Frame_ Tom Waits?”

Dean nods wordlessly, one hand gently stroking the wood of the guitar almost as if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Castiel doesn’t know who Tom Waits is, but he assumes that he is a musician Dean looks up to. Castiel watches as Dean closes his eyes and struggles to compose himself. After a moment, he opens his eyes. Ash is watching him steadily. He swallows hard, clears his throat and says, “Can I talk to you outside?”

Ash nods. He gets up and walks out of the room without waiting for Dean. There’s a pause as Ash slips on his boots, then the front door opens and closes. Dean lays the guitar back in the box, replaces the lid, and motions toward it. “Sammy, can you, ah, put that somewhere safe?”

Sam nods silently, but Dean is already heading toward the door. The heavy silence in the room isn’t broken until the door closes behind him. John gestures toward the closed box. “Is someone going to explain?”

Ellen glances over toward Castiel before she answers. Her eyes are soft and apologetic. “Remember that song Dean used to always play for Ash? Garth made a recording of him performing it and Dean gave it Ash for Christmas that one year?”

John’s eyes widen. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah, that extremely expensive guitar is signed by the guy who wrote it.”

No one else speaks. Castiel can’t help but feel that they’ve all witnessed what should have been a private moment between Ash and Dean and he isn’t sure how he feels about it. What happened between them? Everyone has referred to Ash and Dean’s relationship as if it is in the past, but there’s clearly still emotion between them.

Castiel looks over at Gabriel and then Kali. They both look shocked and remorseful, so Castiel is clearly not reading the situation wrong. He remembers Gabriel’s advice, but the last thing he needs is to get into a relationship with a man who is still in love with someone else.

The awkward tension in the room is interrupted by Ben roughly pushing boxes to the side so he can climb under the Christmas tree. “That’s not all,” he says, looking behind the entertainment center. “Where is it? He wouldn’t forget.”

Jess kneels down beside him. “Ben, honey, what are you looking for?”

“There’s another present,” he says, continuing to dig through the piles of open presents and discarded wrapping paper.

“We’re all done. There are no more presents. You opened them all,” Jess explains calmly. Her voice has taken on the nervous, questioning tone of someone who knows that a meltdown is imminent, but they have to try anyway.

“No!” Ben shouts. “That’s not all of them! There’s a rocket! I put it on the list and Santa is going to bring it! Someone lost it!”

“No one lost it,” Jess responds. “Santa doesn’t always bring everything you want.”

Castiel sees the warning signs before Jess does, but he doesn’t have time to warn her. Ben winds up and smacks her, hard, on the side of the face. Castiel flinches as she falls backward, narrowly missing hitting her head on the coffee table. “You’re a liar,” Ben screams. “Santa does too! If you put it on the list, Santa brings it! It’s not fair! Someone stole my rocket!”

Sam scrambles to help Jess up as John reaches for Ben. “Benjamin Winchester, what the hell is wrong with you? You know better than to hit!” he barks, dragging Ben out from under the tree by his arm.  Ben is flailing and trying to pull away, knocking piles of presents over. Castiel quickly pulls the guitar box out of the way and hands it to Gabriel before it can get trampled in the struggle.

“I hate you!” Ben screams, fat tears falling now. “You’re stupid! I want my rocket! I put it on the list!”

Castiel steps up beside John and Ben. “Sir, please, let me,” he begins, but John cuts him off.

“Enough!” John yells back at Ben. Ben begins to slap and kick at John, trying to pull away from him. “This is ridiculous! Knock it off!”

Castiel approaches to try again, but Ellen beats him to it. She lays a hand on John’s arm. “John, let Castiel try,” she says softly.

John turns his sharp glare on Castiel and he’s reminded of the comments Dean has made about the way John raised his boys. Castiel blanches. He’s glad he never had to face down his father’s wrath. Theodore Novak relied on sharp disappointment and icy silence. John is stone-faced for a moment and Castiel is sure the elder Winchester is going to fight him on this. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to get between and an adult and a child, but he’d rather not have to do it with Dean’s father.

After a tense moment, John nods and releases Ben’s arm. Castiel quickly steps in and gather’s Ben up in a cradle hold, wrapping his arms around Ben from behind and securing his wildly flailing arms against his hips. Ben is still screaming, though he’s nearly incoherent with sobbing now. “Is there someplace,” Castiel begins, looking behind him.

Ellen has either done this many times before or she intuitively knows what Castiel needs because she motions toward the kitchen. “There’s a laundry room off the back of the kitchen. Everything is up high so there’s nothing he can throw.”

“Perfect,” Castiel announces, beginning to walk backward quickly so that Ben is off balance. He moves through the entryway and kitchen and through the open laundry room door. He doesn’t release Ben until Ellen closes the door behind them.

Castiel stands, stoic, his back to Ben as the child screams and punches his legs and lower back. Although he is small, the blows begin to hurt after a few moments. Castiel was hoping Ben would calm down without the audience, but he doesn’t appear to be letting up. “I hate you! You’re a big bully! I wish you never came to Christmas!” he yells, starting to kick at the back of Castiel’s legs as well.

Castiel notices a blanket folded on top of the drier. Ben responded well to the compression blanket at school when he was agitated, so Castiel grabs the blanket and shakes it out. He turns and holds the blanket up in front of him so that it is between him and Ben like a shield. “I’m going to wrap you up now, Ben. This will help you calm down, but I need to you count with me.”

Castiel pushes the blanket forward until he can capture Ben inside of it. He uses the bulk of the blanket to hold Ben firmly but without squeezing him, the child’s arms captured at his sides. The entire time, he counts in a monotone voice. Ben continues to struggle for the first few moments, but by the time Castiel gets to ten Ben has stilled. He continues to cry, though, and it takes until seventeen before he starts counting along. By the time they get to thirty he is calm, but Castiel continues to count to one hundred anyway, still holding Ben securely. He drops into a seated position and holds Ben cradled in his lap, still wrapped in the blanket.

“Do you remember what we said in class about Santa, Ben?” he says softly.

Ben hiccups once and nods. “We can write a list for Santa.”

“Yes, but what else? Does Santa always bring everything on the list? What if we made a list five pages long? Would Santa bring all those things?”

Ben’s eyes droop a little and then he shakes his head. “No, Santa can’t fit that much stuff in his sleigh.”

“So sometimes there will be things Santa can’t bring.”

Ben nods glumly.

“Do you remember the story we wrote about what we should do when we don’t get the present we want?” Meg and Castiel had met with each student individually and wrote social stories with them, detailing how they should handle the disappointment. The children had illustrated them.

Ben nods again. “Count to ten and say to myself that we don’t always get every present. I should tell myself that I might get that present for my birthday or anther holiday,” he recites, practically verbatim, from the story they had written.

“Can I let you go now?”

Ben sighs. “Yes, Mr. Novak.” Castiel slowly unwinds Ben from the blanket and together they fold the blanket and replace it on the dryer.

“We use gentle hands,” Castiel reminds him.

Ben nods. He looks like he’s on the verge of tears again, but these are just unhappy tears, not out-of-control tears. “I’m sorry for hitting you, Mr. Novak. I should use gentle hands.” He thinks for a moment and then says, “I should say sorry to Aunt Jess and Grandpa John. I didn’t use gentle hands and I said mean words to them.”

Castiel nods, relieved that the situation has been resolved so quickly. His watch tells him that it has been less than five minutes since it started. He is proud that Ben suggested apologizing himself, remembering the stubborn child who started the school year refusing to make amends until he was forced.  Ben slips his small hand into Castiel’s and they walk out to re-join the rest of the family.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the turning point for our boys. This chapter sucked to write because I know what it's like to feel as torn and confused as Dean.

It’s colder outside than Dean anticipated and he momentarily wishes he’d grabbed his coat. Ash didn’t stop on the porch as he’d expected but is standing in the driveway, looking a little lost. Soft flurries of snow catch in his hair and his eyelashes, but he’s staring out across the field next the house as if he doesn’t notice. Dean walks past him without speaking, directly to where the Impala sits beside the garage. With a bare hand, he wipes the snow from around the door and climbs into the driver’s seat.

He isn’t sure what he wants to say, but whatever it is, it sure as hell isn’t happening in front of his entire family. And Cas. Fuck. The cold weight in Dean’s chest expands when he thinks about what Cas must think about that scene. He’s mentioned Ash in passing, but he’s pretty sure he’s always talked about Ash as if they were just friends. That spectacle definitely doesn’t scream friendship.

Dean doesn’t have to wait very long before Ash pulls open the passenger door, sending snow swirling through the car. He doesn’t look angry, just confused, and that makes Dean’s chest hurt even more. He pulls the door shut behind him, the heavy thud shaking the coating of snow from the window.

Neither speaks. Dean runs his fingers over the stitching on the steering wheel, just listening to the soft puffs of Ash’s breath. He often wonders if it would have been better if they had fought when Ash left. If they had hurt each other with angry words and bitter feelings, maybe it would have been easier. It would have been painful, but it might have hurt less than limping along the way they have been. Not really together, because they’ve both been with other people, but not ever really finished either.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re so pissed off about,” Ash finally says, breaking the silence. His voice is soft, but Dean wishes he would snap and snarl and make it easier to bury all of this under hateful words.

Dean continues to stare straight ahead though he can’t see anything past the coating of snow covering the windshield. From the corner of his eye, he can see that Ash is leaning against the door, facing Dean. Dean opens his mouth to speak, but there is a lump in his throat that strangles the words, so he says nothing.

“I know it’s not the money, ‘cause you never cared before. I got a nice place and a sweet car, plenty of money to live on. What the hell else am I gonna spend it on besides shit that makes my family happy?”

Dean shrugs, the first indication that he’s even listening.

“Is that it? I’m not allowed to give you things you want anymore because we’re not together, because there’s a different cute, blue-eyed guy sitting next to you at dinner? You never cared how much money I spent on you or Ben when Lisa was comin’ around.”

“It’s not about Cas,” Dean snaps. He doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not in the car, not on Christmas, not ever. But he knows now that he started it, Ash won’t let it go. That’s always been their way. Ash is happy to let things flow, to just live day by day doing what makes him happy. Dean is the one who overthinks and broods. Once Dean makes an issue of something, though, Ash refuses to put it aside until he’s figured out every nuance, so Dean knows there’s no way to get out of this.

“Then what’s it about?”

“It’s about the fucking job waiting for you in Kansas City. The job you waited until now to even tell me about,” Dean bites out. His chest feels like it is filling with the snow that is slowly starting to cover the glass again. “Is this some kind of fucked up test to see how I would react?”

 Ash flinches, just slightly, and Dean knows he’s hit closer to the truth than Ash expected he would. At first, Dean is sure he’s going to brush it off, so it’s like a punch in the chest when Ash retorts, “Why? Do you want me to come home?”

Dean gasps. The icy flurry of snow freezes into a solid ball in his chest. “Fuck you, man. Just, seriously. It’s been seven years. Seven fucking years and you’ve never once asked me that. You never even asked me back then. You never asked me if I wanted you to stay.”

“Because I’m a selfish bastard, Dean,” Ash responds honestly, voice almost a whisper. “I didn’t ask because I knew what you’d say and there was no way I was staying.”

Dean clenches his jaw so tight he thinks it may lock permanently. He runs one hand down over his face, pressing hard against his eyes to stave off the headache he feels starting. His voice is not nearly as steady as he’d like when he finally responds. “But you’re asking now? For fucks sake, Ash. Why is now any different?”

Ash shrugs and closes his eyes. It makes Dean want to reach out and shake him. “Maybe ‘cause I’m not sure what you’ll say. Probably ‘cause I’m not sure what I would say back.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other reflexively opening and closing on the steering wheel.

“I guess I miss this, what we used to have, but seriously, man, I want you to be happy. If you think you got a shot with Professor McDreamy, I won’t stand in the way of that. I’m the one that fucked this up,” he says. Dean hates seeing the pain and confusion in Ash’s eyes. It reminds him too much of the day Ash told him about the job offer in California.

“Is that why you’ve been jerking him around all afternoon?” Dean snaps. It’s easier to be angry at Ash than get lost in the memories.

“You’ve been goin’ on about this guy for months. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t tell you about the job. I wanted a chance to see him for myself.”

“I told you, Cas and I are just friends.”

Ash scoffs. “Let me tell you a few things about your buddy Castiel.” He holds up three fingers. “First, he likes dick.”

Dean’s eye’s narrow. “What makes you think that?”

Ash rolls his eyes and shakes his head in derision. “I spent the whole afternoon jerkin’ him around,” he reminds Dean, throwing his own words back at him. “He got flustered a couple times, but just ‘cause he wasn’t sure how to respond to the flirting. No disgust, no no-homo comments. I’ve hit on my share of straight guys and that guy ain’t straight.”

Dean is still considering that observation when Ash ticks off the next finger. “Second, he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Dudes like to talk about the chicks they’re bangin’ regularly and he hasn’t mentioned her. So even if he’s screwing her, they’re not serious.”

Before Dean can come up with a rebuttal, Ash is ticking off the last finger. “And third, he’s into you.”

“You’re nuts,” Dean automatically retorts.

Ash shrugs in agreement. “And you’re blind. At bare minimum the guy wants to bump uglies,” he says with a rude hand gesture that makes Dean laugh despite his frustration. “And not only do I know it, but his fam knows it too. They watch you more than he does.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I’m telling you, he shot me down,” Dean argues.

Ash rolls his eyes again and pats Dean on the shoulder condescendingly. “Did you use your big boy words? Did you say ‘Castiel, would you like to go on a date with me?’ or even ‘Castiel, can I suck your cock?’ My guess is no, you did not.”

Dean flips him off. “I was pretty obvious,” he says petulantly.

“Dude, you’re about as obvious as Donnie Darko. Talk to him.”

Dean slides his hand around to squeeze the back of his neck. “You’re confusin’ the hell outta me, man. You’re telling me to go after Cas, but what about you movin’ home? What am I supposed to do with all this?”

Ash sighs, sliding one hand over to rest on Dean’s knee. “I don’t know. We gotta talk this out, I know, but we’ve got a whole house full of people waitin’ for us. Now isn’t the time.”

Dean wants to argue, but he knows Ash is right. They need to get back inside, if only to do damage control. He puts his hand on top of Ash’s and squeezes. “Okay, yeah.”

Ash climbs out and shuts the door behind him. Dean takes a few deep breaths in the quiet confines of the car before following. He feels raw and rung out and there is a headache creeping up behind his eyes. He’d rather just start the car and drive home, but that isn’t an option, so he reluctantly follows Ash into the house.

Sam and Ben are sitting on the floor in the living room, sorting through the pieces of the Lego spaceship Sam and Jess bought him while John and Bobby discuss the best places for Bobby to try out his new hunting rifle. Dean piles his shoes on the mat and wanders into the kitchen for a beer. He stops in the doorway when he sees Castiel and Kali standing near the sink, shoving down an overwhelming urge to backtrack to the living room. He’s about to turn away when Ellen hands an ice pack to Jess, who hold it against the side of her face.

“What the hell happened?” he barks, striding into the room so he can see the large bruise blooming across Jess’ cheek.

Ellen and Jess respond at the same time. “There was a little accident,” and “Don’t freak out at him, he didn’t mean to,” told Dean enough to piece it together.

“Ben did this?” he snaps, grabbing Jess’ chin to turn her face toward him. “Son of a bitch.”

“I’m okay, Dean,” she murmurs. “He freaked out about not getting one of the gifts he wanted and he hit me when I tried to get him out from under the tree.”

“I got him calmed down, Dean. He apologized to Jess and your father,” Cas adds.

Dean’s eyes widen. “He hit dad? Oh, boy.”

“Yeah, John didn’t take it too well,” Ellen says with a tight laugh.

Though it’s been years since he’s felt the back of John’s hand, he remembers the sting too well.  “He didn’t,” Dean starts in a panic, but Castiel cuts him off.

“No, I intervened before anything happened,” Cas says gently. They’ve talked about their fathers enough that he should have known Cas would understand his fear. Dean’s stomach drops at the thought of what could have happened if Cas hadn’t been there, followed by guilt for allowing his shit with Ash to interfere when Ben needed him.

“Thanks, man. I knew he was gonna get upset when he realized he didn’t get the rockets, but I completely forgot about it.”

“It’s over and it worked out, so I suggest letting it go. He actually calmed down much faster than he has before and he suggested apologizing before I mentioned it,” Cas shares. “He’s made quite a bit of progress since the beginning of the school year.”

“Thanks to you,” Dean says sincerely, meeting Cas’ eyes. “I’m glad you were here.” He doesn’t break the eye contact for a long moment, until he remembers with a start that they aren’t alone in the kitchen. He clears his throat awkwardly and mutters, “I’m gonna grab some beers,” then escapes to the garage before he makes a bigger fool of himself.

Thankfully, by the time he returns from the garage with a round of drinks, everyone is gathered in the dining room while Ash arranges the Trivial Pursuit board on the table. Every year, Ash tries to make it a drinking game, and although Dean’s never read the instructions, he’s pretty sure that’s not official gameplay.

It doesn’t take long to divvy up the teams with the addition of Cas and his family. As predicted, Sam and Jess pick each other, but Kali and Gabriel decide to play for opposing teams. It’s not surprising when Sam and Jess pick Ellen, but John and Ash have never gotten along incredibly well, so it’s unexpected when he ends up on the team with Ash and Gabriel. Jo and Kali form a girl power team and then pick Bobby. From the way Bobby shuffles over to them with a slight blush, Dean can tell that he’s a little bit smitten with Kali. Dean isn’t upset when he’s left with Cas and Ben as his teammates.

Sam reads the first question for Jo’s team. “The largest sculptures in the world are 90 feet high, on the face of Stone Mountain, near Atlanta, Georgia. Which three people are depicted on these sculptures?”

Jo and Kali just look at each other blankly and there is shocked surprise when Bobby answers correctly. “What?” he says when everyone stares. “What good is a giant TV if I can’t use it to watch that National Geographic channel?”

The game gets a little rowdy when John and Ash disagree over an answer, but Gabriel manages to hold the team together without bloodshed. Ben answers more questions than anyone expected but it comes down to Jo and Sam’s teams circling the hub at the end. After the third incorrect answer from both teams, Jo’s team gets the question, “Which Italian fashion designer set an industry record in 1999 when he earned $135 million?”

“Georgio Armani,” Kali answers instantly. Jo high-fives her when Ash announces that she’s correct.

“I modeled for Armani in the winter of ’99,” she says with a light laugh. “That was a good year.”

Their victory is short lived, as Ash quickly scoops up the pieces to set up another game. An argument breaks out over whether to continue with the same teams or switch. While Jo and Ash yell at each other, Dean wanders into the kitchen to pick at the leftovers.

Mindful of Ash’s comments in the car, he tried to watch Cas as covertly as possible during the game. There was nothing Dean could see in his behavior to suggest that Ash was right, but he’s not exactly at the top of his game in that department. Ash’s question _Do you want me to come home?_ keeps playing in his mind on a loop. _Probably ‘cause I’m not sure what I would say back_. Unlike when Ash left, Dean can’t just fall back on what Ash wants.

Distracted, Dean doesn’t notice Ellen enter the kitchen until she bumps him out of the way to snatch a spoonful of stuffing for herself. She pulls out the ham and cuts off a chunk before offering him a slice. “Don’t forget to pack some up to take home for you and Ben,” she says. “We’ll pick at it the rest of the week if it’s here and Bobby doesn’t need the extra salt.”

“I’m sure Cas would appreciate some,” Dean replies. Cas has mentioned his lack of cooking ability more than once.

Ellen nods thoughtfully as she chews. “He’s quite the fellow. Got Ben calmed down right quick. He responds real well to you, but I’ve never seen Ben like that with anyone else.”

Dean takes another slice of ham, tearing it apart with his fingers. “He’s been great with Ben. I can’t imagine what this year would have been like without him.”

Ellen makes a small, non-committal sound. “You two seem close,” she says, glancing at Dean out of the corner of her eye as she pulls the pitcher of water out of the fridge. She pours a glass and washes down the salty ham.

“We’re friends,” Dean says, his shoulders tightening.

“That’s good. You need people who understand you and Ben,” she says lightly, but Dean can hear the unspoken words.

Dean covers the ham and stuffing and slides the dishes back into the fridge with more force than necessary. “We’re just friends, Ellen. Don’t go readin’ into it,” he scowls.

“You spend too much time alone,” she observes, unperturbed.

“That why you’re plottin’ to get Ash to move home?” he snaps.

Ellen shrugs, untroubled by his tone. “I’ve never liked him livin’ out there.”

“So it’s got nothin’ to do with me and Ben?”

She turns to look at him. “You know I always thought you and Ash were good together. It wouldn’t be terrible to see you back together. It’d be good for all of you.”

Dean clenches his jaw. “Well, if you’re gonna play matchmaker, you better pick a side. You can’t cheer for both teams,” he barks, stalking out of the room. Why the hell is everyone trying to confuse the situation? Ash, Cas, he feels like a teenage girl picking out a date for the prom. This bullshit is why he’s better off alone. He and Ben have been just fine by themselves.

Not wanting to return to the chatter in the living room, Dean slips into Bobby’s study at the front of the house. The paneled walls, heavy wooden desk, and smell of old books are comforting. They remind Dean of his childhood. Bobby hated doing the books for the garage, so as soon as he was able he passed the job off to Ash. It didn’t seem to bother the older man that Ash was only thirteen at the time.

Dean picks up a glass paperweight etched with a ’57 Chevy from the desk and tosses it from hand to hand. He’s staring out the window at the snow coating the cars when the door behind him opens.

“They’re startin’ back up soon,” John says, coming around the desk to stand beside Dean. They look out the window in silence for a moment before John asks, “You okay?”

Dean shrugs. “Could be better.”

“’Cause of the thing with Ash?”

Dean huffs out a breath and turns to look at his father. “Yeah, some of it.”

“So,” John starts, then breaks off before trying again. “So, you’re not seein’ that teacher?”

“Cas? Why does everyone keep askin’ me that?”

“Well, you just seem pretty close. The way he is with Ben, I guess I wondered.” He stares out the window as he talks, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

“He’s Ben’s teacher and we’re friends. That’s it. There’s nothin’ goin’ on,” Dean insists. If he says it enough times, maybe even he’ll believe it.

John shifts uncomfortably before turning to look at Dean. “You know you don’t got to worry about me if you two are more than friends, right? I might not understand it, but if bein’ with a guy makes you happy, that’s all I want. Cas seems like a good guy, even if his brother is a bit of a weirdo.”

“I swear, dad. We’re just friends,” Dean maintains. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen in the future, but for now, we’re just friends.”

John nods. “I just, I know I wasn’t the easiest on you when I found out about you and Ash. It took me a while to come around and I don’t want you to think you have to hide it from me.”

To say John hadn’t been easy on him was an understatement. Ash had been back from school for four months when John walked in on them making out in Bobby and Ellen’s garage. Dean supposes he should be glad that John was in one of his better phases at the time. He was still drinking, but not the blackout drunk that made him mean. Showing up at the same job for over a year had made him fairly stable. Dean would never repeat some of the things John said to him that night, but at least no punches were thrown. Christmas was tense that year, but neither Sam nor Bobby and Ellen would allow John to make too big of a scene. By the time Dean and Ash moved in together the follow summer, John had stopped making homophobic comments. While he and Ash have never really been close, he’s limited his displays to giving Ash dirty looks.

“I appreciate that. I do. I’m just, I’m not hiding anything. I promise.”

“Okay, good. I know it’s my own fault that you don’t really talk to me about stuff, but just, you know, if you ever need to talk, you can. Talk to me, I mean. About Ash or Cas or whatever,” John says, trailing off awkwardly. The whole thing would be sad if he wasn’t so earnest. Dean sees where Sam gets it.

“Thanks, dad. It’s all pretty screwed up right now, but yeah, that would be great.” They exchange a look that says they both know it will never happen.

John clears his throat. “Good. Well, we better get back out there and see what kind of torment they have in store for us.”

Dean pats his father on the back and smiles. “Trivial Pursuit isn’t medieval torture, old man.”

There must have been a successful coup in their absence, because Sam and Jess are split up at last. The teams have been rearranged and Dean finds himself paired with Ash and Kali. Cas is sitting across the table from them with Jo and Ellen. A roll of the dice puts Dean’s team going first.

Dean cheers and everyone else groans when their first question deals with computers. “When discussing computers, what does the word ‘modem’ abbreviate?” Jess reads, rolling her eyes. They all turn to Ash.

“Modulation and demodulation,” he says with a grin. “I like the direction this game is going.” He holds out his hand to Dean for a fist bump.

As the game goes on, Ash’s chair slides closer and closer to Dean. While reaching across the table to scoop up the die, he places his hand on Dean’s leg to steady himself, his grip landing just centimeters from Dean’s crotch. Dean doesn’t react, so he’s pretty sure no-one else noticed, but when he turns to pass the die to Bobby for their next turn, Kali is watching him with narrowed eyes.

From then on, little touches like brushing his knuckles across Dean’s arm or gripping Dean’s bicep become more frequent. Being touched by Ash is so natural, so commonplace, that after the first few times, Dean finds himself leaning into the contact. Heat begins to flood his system from the caresses. That is, until he catches Cas’ eye across the table. He’s watching them, his eyebrows drawn together with a small frown. It’s not his cute squinty look, but an expression laced displeasure.

Dean glances away quickly, refusing to acknowledge Cas’ look, but he does lean away from Ash. Not that it does any good. Ash continues his teasing despite several pointed looks from Dean. He wants to pull away or say something to Ash, but he’s not sure how to do it without causing a scene. Ash is definitely not taking the hint. Dean is grateful when Sam’s team finally answers the winning question correctly. Without meeting anyone’s eyes, Dean quickly excuses himself to run upstairs to the bathroom.

Feeling unsettled and on edge, Dean lingers in the bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face while trying to convince himself that he’s not hiding. When he invited Cas to celebrate Christmas with them, he certainly wasn’t expecting this kind of clusterfuck. Taking a deep breath, he steadies himself and opens the bathroom door only to find Sam lurking in the hallway.

“There’s a bathroom downstairs,” Dean says pointedly, as Sam is leaning against the wall clearly waiting.

“I don’t need to use the bathroom,” Sam responds just as intentionally.

He’s blocking Dean’s path toward the stairs leaving Dean no way to escape without actually pushing past him, so he sighs and raises one eyebrow. “Spit it out, Sammy.”

“Did you sleep with Ash last night?”

The muscle in Dean’s jaw clenches with the effort of holding himself back. What is with the meddling assholes in this family? “Did I miss the part where that is any of your goddamn business?” he snaps.

Sam holds up two hands placatingly. “You invited Cas to—”

Dean sees where this is going, so he cuts his brother off before he can continue. “Cas and I are just friends. What is with this family? Last I checked I’m not Bridget Jones, for fucks sake.”

Sam refuses to respond to Dean’s anger. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Dean. You and Ash have had this weird drama going on all day and—”

“I’m fine. There’s nothing going on with me and Ash, just our normal bullshit, so you don’t need to pull out your sparkly markers and stickers so we can journal about it,” Dean retorts, starting to shove past him.

Sam pushes back. “I’m not sure Cas knows that you two are just friends, Dean. The guy looks upset. You need to talk to him.” Dean shoves again and Sam turns to the side to let him pass. “Just think about it,” he adds as Dean reaches the top of the stairs.

When Dean comes down the stairs he can hear Cas’ voice in the living room, so he veers toward the kitchen instead. He goes through the back door and snags several beers from the fridge in the garage to restock the kitchen. He has the intense urge for a bottle of whiskey, but he still needs to drive Ben home tonight, so he pushes it away. When he walks back into the kitchen, the desire for a shot, or several, intensifies when he sees Kali standing near the counter. Her caramel eyes are snapping with anger. Awesome.

“Castiel is not a plaything for your amusement,” she says, her tone icy.

Feigning indifference, Dean walks past her to put the beer in the fridge. He pops the cap off one and leans against the counter with one hip. “What now?

“I don’t know what kind of childish game you and your boyfriend are playing, but Castiel is a good man. If you are interested in pursuing a friendship with him, then I suggest you stop dragging him into your repulsive drama.” With each statement, she stalks closer to Dean, until she’s finally standing toe to toe with him.

Dean is stunned by her vehemence. Today certainly hasn’t gone as planned, but it wasn’t as bad as she is making it out. “Listen, Cas and I—”

“No, you listen,” she snaps, cutting him off. “Castiel was under the impression that you and he were forming a connection beyond friendship. Despite the way you encourage him with your disgusting flirting, this is clearly not the case. He has been through too much to waste his time on an immature, insensitive cad, which you clearly are. If there is the slightest bit of decency in you, which I severely doubt, you will walk away and let him be. He doesn’t need you playing with his emotions. We are leaving now. You should come say your goodbyes.”

Dean withers under her glare. Before he can apologize or defend himself or even form a clear thought, she turns on her heel and marches out of the kitchen. He stays leaning against the counter for a few moments. What the actual fuck?  He needs his head to stop spinning. He hears voices move out of the living room into the entry way, so he shakes his head to clear it and follows her.

Kali and Gabriel are already bundled up, but Cas is still shrugging into his tan overcoat. He is murmuring something to Ellen as Dean steps through the door. Cas’ eyes flick up to Dean’s face and his expression is momentarily naked and raw, before relaxing into a blank expression.

“Thank you for inviting us, Dean,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “I did not sleep well last night and I feel a headache coming on, so we’re going.”

Dean steps closer and reaches out to touch Cas’ arm, but the other man flinches away. Cas’ fingers are flitting over his opposite wrist, where one of those rubber bands would be, but Dean hadn’t noticed one beneath the cuff of his button-up. He wants a few moments to talk to Cas alone, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it, so he just nods. “Okay, I, uh, I hope you feel better.”

Cas nods, stilted, without meeting Dean’s eyes. Pleasantries are exchanged by the rest of the family, Ash conspicuously absent, and then they are opening the door and heading out into the chilly evening air. With darkness fallen, the lights from the porch cast rainbows of color in Cas’ dark, messy hair as Dean watches him walk down the path to his car. There’s a tightness in his chest that he doesn’t know what to do with, so he turns away from the others and stalks back into the kitchen before they can comment. The whiskey bottle in the cupboard is sounding more and more inviting.

“Dammit,” he growls, slamming his fist against the wall. What a fucking disaster. He kicks the bottom cabinet door before dropping his forehead against the wall with a thud, his hands folded against the back of his head. He hears a noise on the other side of the room and turns toward it without raising his head. Ash is leaning against the counter watching him silently.

“What the fuck, man?” Dean snaps, shoving himself away from the wall. “Just seriously. What the actual fuck is up with you today?”

Ash raises one eyebrow and shrugs. “What?”

“Really? What? Are you fucking kidding me? You’re giving me whiplash. One minute you’re playing Cas up, telling me I should take a shot with him and the next you’re jerking my chain. Is this a fucking joke to you?”

Ash glances away. Ash doesn’t do conflict, he never has. He bluffs and talks his way around it, but he doesn’t yell or rant like Dean does. That’s not to say that Ash is above throwing a few punches when the situation calls for it, but he’d rather skate around the issues than rage about them. “It’s not a joke.”

“If it’s not a joke, then you did it on purpose. You need to make a fucking decision, you either want in or not. You don’t want to be tied down, but you can’t fucking stand that I might really like this guy so you screw it up for me.” Dean stalks closer, until they’re standing just inches apart. “You never did that with Lisa, never looked twice at her. Why? Is it that you can’t stand that Cas is a guy? It’s okay if I see other people as long as those other people don’t have a dick that might replace yours?”

Ash’s eyes are wide with his pupils dilated and his breathing shallow, soft puffs that seem to echo as loud as Dean’s shouts. Dean expects him to try to step away, but instead, he reaches out and grabs two handfuls of Dean’s shirt. He tugs Dean roughly forward, breathing out “I forgot how fucking hot you are when you’re pissed,” just before he crashes their mouths together.

For a moment, Dean is tense, utterly shocked at this turn of events. He yanks backward, trying to break away, but Ash just tightens his grip. His lips move over Dean’s, the pressure insistent and bruising, pushing every button he knows Dean has. When his tongue presses against the seam of Dean’s immobile lips, nibbling and licking in short swipes, Dean’s resolve flickers, then goes out entirely. He opens to the onslaught, bringing his hands up to grasp the back of Ash’s head to increase the pressure. He steps forward, grinding his hips into Ash’s. He’s not at all surprised by the hard outline of Ash’s erection pressing against him or the lash of heat it sends zipping through his body.

The kiss is anything but gentle, with them both biting and warring for control, but that’s familiar too. They’ve always been good at fighting with their bodies. Ash hooks one calf around the back of Dean’s legs, tugging him closer until their cocks are grinding together. He pulls back from the kiss long enough to murmur, “Come on,” and then he’s releasing Dean’s shirt to grab his hand instead. He tugs Dean out the back door and then through the side door of the garage. They pause there as Ash pulls him into another punishing kiss before Dean is stumbling up the stairs to Jo’s apartment behind Ash, the cold snow soaking into his socks.

This is wrong, Dean knows it. It doesn’t solve anything and Dean is still pissed about the way everything has gone down today. But it’s also so achingly familiar that Dean can’t force himself to stop. Ash kisses him again before shoving the door open and pulling him inside. He pushes the door closed behind them, effectively sealing out all of Dean’s better judgment.

Sex with Ash has always been fast and rough, just this side of too much, and this is no different. It’s more like a battle for control than anything, so far from making love that Dean isn’t sure they ever have. Heat and passion have never been something missing in their relationship and it’s a sprint to the finish line that leaves Dean breathless, panting and sated in a tangle of naked limbs on Jo’s couch.

His heart rate is still racing, pounding in his ears, so he almost misses Ash’s low chuckle. He runs one hand down Dean’s naked torso, hand warm against the chill in the air. “Jo is going to kill us,” Ash murmurs.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean pushes out with a long breath. “Yeah, we better get cleaned up before anything gets on her couch or there will be hell to pay.”  

Ash pushes himself up and pads naked to the kitchen. He tosses Dean a wet washcloth. They clean up and pull their clothes back on in silence. Dean is an even bigger jumble of warring emotions than before. The endorphins coursing through his body tell him that everything is great, but his mind is even more tumultuous.

Once they’re dressed, Ash drops down onto the recliner. Dean sits on the couch, his arms propped on his legs while he massages his temples. He flinches slightly when Ash murmurs, “Talk to me.”

Dean sighs, trying to collect his thoughts. It has always been easy to lose himself in the fervor of good sex. While it felt good in the moment, though, nothing has changed. No solutions have been found. “I can’t do this anymore,” he says softly, looking up to catch Ash’s eye.

Ash nods. “I’ve been waiting for seven years for you to tell me that.”

“So why didn’t you ever call quits?”

Ash laughs, a small bitter sound. “Why would I? I’m a selfish bastard, remember?”

“I’m tired of being so fucking lonely,” Dean admits, the first time he’s ever said the words out loud. “I tell myself that this is okay because I’m still in love with you, but I don’t know if that’s true anymore.”

Ash swallows hard, then nods. “Why do you hold on to us so tight?”

Dean considers this. “I miss what we had too. I want a real relationship. I’m so tired of hookups and meaningless sex, but I don’t know how to make that happen. At least with you, it’s not meaningless, you know? You get me, it’s good, and for one goddamn minute, I can pretend that nothing has changed.” His voice is raw and broken with the confession.

“Yeah,” Ash says softly, “I know. I get that. It’s easier. But neither of us will find something else if we don’t look for it.”

Dean studies him for a minute. “I can’t wait for you to decide to come home. If you make this choice, I can’t promise I’m gonna be here.”

Ash’s eyes flutter closed then he nods. “Cas?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. If what everyone keeps saying is true, it’s worth a shot. Assuming I can make it up to him for today,” Dean answers honestly. “I mean, it’s scary as fuck, you know? I think I could really fall for the guy if I let myself. I’m just not so keen on gettin’ my heart ripped out again.”

Ash opens his eyes and finds Dean’s gaze. “I’m sorry.” Dean starts to shake his head, to brush him off, but Ash refuses. “No, don’t. Let me say this. I never said it back then. Never really acknowledged what it did to you. Didn’t really even give you a choice, and I’m sorry for that. I’d do it different if I could.”

Dean acknowledges the apology with a nod. It doesn’t really change anything, but something in Dean’s chest loosens hearing it.

Ash continues. “I want you to be happy. I really do. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, but I’m gonna promise you this. If I come back for good, I’m gonna fight for you. Not ‘cause I wanna make trouble for you, but ‘cause if I come back it’s gonna be ‘cause I think I can be what you and Ben need.”

Dean presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and swallows thickly. He takes two deep breaths, then lowers his hands and says, “Just don’t wait too long.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys try to work through their feelings about what happened at Christmas and get some advice from their friends.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to send kudos or comments for this story! I've tried to respond to each comment individually but I got swamped at work and fell behind. If I haven't responded to you, know that I definitely read them all and your feedback means the word to me.
> 
> On a side note, if anyone is interested in the calm down jars Meg makes with the kids, you can find instructions here: [6 Ways to Make a Calm Down Jar](http://www.preschoolinspirations.com/2014/11/13/6-ways-to-make-a-calm-down-jar/). The corn syrup variation is my favorite, especially with super-fine glitter. Everyone should have one of these (grown-up too, not just kids). They're very soothing.
> 
> On another side note, all of the random stuff I mention are real things. The game they play in this chapter, Charlie's various character t-shirts, the mugs they use in the teacher lounge, the science kit Ash gave Ben, etc. I'm not that creative, lol. If you ever want to know where to get anything I describe, leave me a comment and I'll link you up.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Meg snaps, snatching the project out of his hand. Castiel glances down at the foam holiday frame he was holding, then back to her face.

“I was just packing them up to send home,” he says, ignoring the way she rolls her eyes. He resolutely ignores how happy Dean and Ben look in picture Dean had sent in for the project. Instead, he takes the frame back and slides it into the folder with Ben’s other holiday projects.

“You’ve got to let this go.” Her voice is soft, without its usual bite, and that’s how he knows that she is worried about him.

“I’m not pining, Meg. I’m not even particularly angry with him.” He ignores the way she rolls her eyes again. “Yes, it was uncomfortable, but Dean and I have never been anything but friends. His other relationships are none of my business. I was silly for thinking there might be something more between us.”

It’s a practiced speech, one that he has carefully cultivated during the eleven days since Christmas. Truthfully, he does feel foolish for imagining that someone like Dean could ever be interested in someone like him. Given the way Dean acted with his ex-boyfriend, if Ash is, in fact, an ex, Dean never intended the invitation to Christmas to be anything other than friendly. Dean may be flirtatious, but it is Castiel’s own fault for reading into it.

That’s what he tells Meg, anyway. His adamant refusal to be angry at Dean is all that has kept Meg from lashing out at Dean. He was reluctant to even tell her about what happened, but Gabriel spilled the whole sordid story at dinner the next evening. If Castiel thinks Kali and Meg are scary individually, they are downright terrifying when united against a common enemy.

Despite his reassurances to keep his family from plotting revenge against Dean, he can’t get past the feeling that Dean used him as a pawn in his drama with Ash. The whole spectacle was more than uncomfortable. It was incredibly painful to watch the way Dean reacted to Ash’s touch. If that is the way Dean acts with a lover, Castiel can’t imagine why he ever thought Dean might be involved with Jo.

In the days following Christmas, Castiel’s phone was noticeably quiet. He can only imagine Dean was so busy entertaining his guest that he had no time for anyone else. The only text he received came at midnight on New Year’s. Kali and Gabriel flew back to L.A. the day before and Castiel stubbornly refused to leave his house despite Meg’s best efforts. Sitting in his bed reading, he hadn’t even known it was past midnight until his phoned buzzed.  When he saw it was from Dean, he almost turned it off without opening the picture message, but his curiosity won out.

He immediately wished he had ignored it. The screen showed Dean and Ben in their living, both wearing silly hats and blowing party horns. The message that accompanied it read “Happy New Year’s, Cas.” While the sentiment was innocuous enough, it was the realization that the picture had to have been taken by someone else that upset Castiel. He could see the beautiful guitar Ash had given Dean for Christmas propped against the couch beside them, so it wasn’t hard to imagine that Ash was behind the camera. Castiel didn’t respond.

“You need to pull yourself together, Clarence. The parents will be here soon,” Meg cautions, reaching down to snap the rubber band on his wrist. For the past eleven days, the band has served one purpose, to remind him not to think about Dean. “I still say you should let me kick his ass.”

“Don’t cause a scene, Meg. Please. I’m fine.” He takes the stack of project envelopes from the windowsill and carries them to his desk. “We should finish getting the tables set up.”

They work in silence for the next twenty minutes. The parents are starting to trickle in by the time they have everything arranged. Every time the door opens, Castiel looks up to see if it is Dean and Ben. And every time Castiel looks at the door, Meg rolls her eyes. Castiel continues to ignore her.

“Maybe he won’t have the balls to show up,” she mutters under her breath as she passes him on her way to help one of the mothers unpack brownies for the snack table. It’s a sad testament to how tired Castiel is of the whole thing that he doesn’t reprimand her for her language.

Dean and Ben still haven’t arrived by the time he calls the meeting to order, but Castiel isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed. He sends the children to the back of the room to make calm-down bottles with Meg. She always manages to avoid the classroom when Castiel has a craft planned, so he doesn’t feel guilty at all when he hands her the glitter.

Castiel is handing out the stack of chore charts he prepared for the evening’s discussion when the door opens. As Dean and Ben are the only regular participants yet to arrive, Castiel keeps his back to the door so he doesn’t have to watch them walk in. Childish, maybe, but Castiel considers it his prerogative after the way Dean behaved at Christmas. He flicks the band on his wrist once before turning back around.

By the time he walks back to the front of the room to open the discussion, Ben has joined Meg at the craft table and Dean is sitting at the back of the room. He has pulled his chair a few feet from the group and he slouches with his arms crossed over his chest, his expression impenetrable. Castiel wonders if it is hubris for him to wonder if Dean’s demeanor has anything to do with him.

It’s not uncommon for Dean to avoid participating in the group discussion, but his silence tonight is palpable. He’s withdrawn and tense, avoiding eye contact not only with Castiel but with the rest of the parents as well. Despite Dean’s reticence, he draws Castiel’s attention just by being in the room. As much as he tries, he can’t stop his eyes from flicking back to Dean every few moments, though the other man makes no indication that he notices.

Dean remains quiet even after the parents move into the social portion of the meeting. Castiel watches as Candace and Jolene exchange a glance after Dean acknowledges them with a simple hello and a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. In clear contrast to his usual friendliness, he doesn’t engage them in conversation. Rather, he takes his juice and stands at the back of the room. He watches the children work while avoiding the other parents.

Is something else wrong? Maybe Dean’s mood has nothing to do with Castiel. Despite his frustration with Dean, Castiel worries that something is seriously amiss.  Even though he’s hurt by Dean’s behavior, it doesn’t mean he wants something bad to happen to Dean. Before he can talk himself out of it, Castiel excuses himself from the parents and starts toward the back of the room.

Before he reaches Dean, though, Meg breaks away from the children and intercepts him. “We’re ready to glue the lids on,” she states innocently. “Come help with the hot glue gun.” When he glances over at Dean before following her, she reaches out and tugs on the rubber band. He’s sure Meg knows exactly what he was thinking.

Once the lids are securely glued to the corn syrup, water, and glitter filled bottles, Meg helps the children collect their holiday project packets and reunite with their parents. Unsurprisingly, Ben’s bottle has swirls of royal purple with silver and blue glitter that make it look like a galaxy. When he shakes it for Dean, his father gives his first genuine smile of the evening.

While the parents bundle up their children, Castiel makes his way over to where Dean is helping Ben with his coat. As if sensing Castiel’s presence, Dean looks up, finally making eye contact for the first time. His eyes widen fractionally. “Oh, ah, hey, Cas,” he murmurs.

“Hello, Dean.” From this distance, there appear to be dark circles under Dean’s eyes. “Is everything okay?”

Dean’s eyes flick down to Ben then back to Castiel, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.  “Yeah, well, I was kinda hopin’ that maybe we could talk or, ah, something.”

Despite everything, Castiel does want to talk to Dean. He wants to ask questions and figure out whether he misread Dean’s cues or whether Dean changed his mind. Most of all, though, he just misses talking to Dean at all. He wants to find a way to make sense of Dean’s behavior without losing their friendship over it. He snaps the rubber band while he considers whether that makes him noble or just pathetic.

He’s about to suggest that Dean call him when Meg appears like an apparition beside him. She zips Ben’s coat, then turns a barely concealed sneer on Dean. “It’s about time for you to be going, Dean-o,” she suggests, her voice dripping with venom.

Dean’s eyes harden. “Cas and I were talkin’,” he practically snarls, his body a hard line of frustration.

“Unless you want to talk about Ben, Castiel doesn’t have anything to say to you. So either schedule a conference or be on your way.” She stands toe-to-toe with him even though she’s tiny compared to Dean’s much larger frame. “Your son doesn’t need to witness a scene,” she adds with mock sweetness.

Dean looks past her to Castiel, who shakes his head and looks away. “I’m sorry, Dean.” He isn’t sure if he’s apologizing for Meg, or for something else entirely, but he is suddenly very, very tired of the whole situation.

“Yeah, me too, Cas,” Dean growls in response. He scoops Ben up and carries him to the door without looking back. As Ben starts to chatter about his bottle, Dean smiles and responds with something that makes Ben laugh. Castiel is relieved that whatever is bothering Dean doesn’t seem to be affecting his relationship with Ben.

Meg stalks away to get her coat without commenting, but Castiel follows her. “That was uncalled for,” he points out.

She snatches her coat out of the closet and shoves her arms in the sleeves angrily before answering. “Bullshit. He’s lucky that’s all I did. The asshole deserves a black eye.”

Castiel takes his coat when she holds it out to him. “Meg, I will not condone violence,” he retorts sternly.

She snorts out a laugh. “You don’t have to condone it.”

“Meg.”

“Fine, fine,” she concedes. “It’s not like I was actually going to hit him.”

Castiel follows her out of the classroom. “No,” he quips dryly. “You would have had Zar do it.” She flips her hair back with a smirk and wisely doesn’t respond.

Waving goodnight to a few lingering colleagues and the janitor, they exit to the parking lot. The afternoon flurries have turned to sleet, making the parking lot a sheet of ice. “You’re not walking home in this shit,” she announces and Castiel is quick to agree. While he doesn’t mind walking in the cold, freezing rain is another story entirely. They walk to where her SUV is parked in the side lot. “Aren’t you glad at least one of us has a second vehicle that’s appropriate for this weather?” she jokes.

“I’ve actually been thinking about buying an SUV.”

Meg turns to him in shock. “Really?”

“I’m not replacing the Camaro, Meg. I just thought I should have a car that is more effective for traveling in inclement weather. Dean offered to help me fix the IROC, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen now.” He turns to look out the window into the dark. The uncertainty has left him feeling muddled.

“You don’t need him to work on your car,” she contends, pulling out of the parking lot. “It’s not like you can’t afford to pay someone to fix it up.”

“I know,” he sighs. He’d been looking forward to learning to work on the car himself. Moreover, he’d been looking forward to Dean teaching him.

Silence settles over the car as Meg drives the several blocks to his house. She parks in front of the garage, but when he moves to open the door, she brushes her hand against his arm to stop him.  “Maybe you should call Jacob,” she suggests. “Take your mind off this whole mess.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I’m not romantically interested in Jacob and he has made it clear that is where his interest lies. We’re not friends.”

“You don’t have to be friends. You could use the distraction.”

“No, Meg,” he responds firmly. “I don’t want to be with him, or anyone, just to not be alone. I’m lonely, but I’m not desperate. I want to find someone that I want to be with. Someone I can fall in love with. That requires being friends first and foremost.”

“Life would be easier if you weren’t such a damn romantic.”

“I’m just not built that way,” he says sadly. “When you settle for the alternative, it’s too easy to change yourself into what they want you to be in order to keep them happy. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Meg leans over and kisses him lightly on the cheek. “Hey, at least you’ve got me.”

Castiel smiles. “ Yes. At least I have you.”

* * *

* * *

Dean slides the last of the leftover chicken onto two plates and heats them in the microwave before carrying them into the dining room. “Milk or juice?” he calls to Ben. No answer. “Ben, do you want milk or juice with dinner?” he repeats. Still no answer.

Dean sighs and steps around the corner into the living room. Ben sits next to the coffee table, Legos sorted into tidy piles around him. His attention flickers between studying the instruction book in front of him and watching the cartoon playing on the television. His fingers tap lightly together, over and over, as he thinks.

“Ben,” Dean says, moving into his son’s line of sight. When Ben looks up, eyes finally focusing on Dean, he says again, “Milk or juice with dinner?”

“Milk,” Ben responds as if this is the first time he’s hearing the question. Dean knows well enough by now that it probably is.

“Okay. Pause the TV and come eat,” Dean directs.

“But there’s only two minutes left,” Ben whines, attention now firmly on Dean. “Look at the clock. Two minutes and nineteen seconds until the next show.”

Dean considers whether it’s worth fighting over two minutes and nineteen seconds. At one time, he would have put his foot down and insist Ben come to the table immediately, but he’s learned a lot since then. From Cas. Dammit. Cas suggested that if it’s less than five minutes, and there are no time constraints, he should let Ben finish. If it’s more than five minutes, he should stick to his guns and make Ben transition. That suggestion has saved more than a few mealtimes. He wants to childishly ignore the advice just because it came from Cas, but that seems more pathetic than he already feels.  “Fine. Two minutes, but when it’s over shut it off and come to the table. If you don’t shut it off, no TV the rest of the night.”

“Okay, daddy. Space dog is going to save the planet,” Ben agrees, fingers back to tapping again.

Dean nods and hums appreciatively, even though he knows Ben isn’t paying attention to him anymore and he has no idea what a space dog is anyway. His life seems to be a lot of not knowing what the hell is going on these days.

When he returns to the kitchen to grab the drinks, his phone is blinking with a new text message. Even after two weeks without a message from Cas, he can’t shove down the anticipation that the message might be from him. Though Ash had spent the rest of his visit at Ellen and Bobby’s, in the days after Christmas Dean had been too confused and embarrassed to try contacting Cas. When the clock struck midnight on New Year’s, though, he couldn’t resist having his dad take a picture to send to Cas. When the other man didn’t respond, he told himself that it didn’t matter.

Dean grabs his phone from the counter, lighting up the screen. Not Cas. Charlie. He tries really hard not to be disappointed.

**[Charlie] 6:17PM: You coming 2 game nite?**

_[You] 6:20PM: Not really feelin it_

**[Charlie] 6:21PM: Awww come on. Dorothy is bringing Machina Arcana**

_[You] 6:21PM: I don’t even know what that is._

**[Charlie] 6:22PM: Heathen. Think Lovecraft meets dungeon crawl.**

**[Charlie] 6:22PM: Was a kickstarter. Dorothy got it from a kid who donated to the campaign but didn’t like it. Philistine.**

_[You] 6:22PM: Ok ok. I’ve got Ben_

**[Charlie] 6:23PM: Bring him**

_[You] 6:23PM: Fine. Eatin dinner now. Be there by 7:30_

**[Charlie] 6:23PM: Aces. SYS**

By the time Dean finally makes it to the table, Ben is already in his seat. “Wanna go to Charlie’s for game night?” Dean asks, passing him the milk.

“Can I take my space station?”

Dean quickly calculates whether the piles of Legos covering the living room will fit into the tackle box he’d bought Ben to organize his Lego projects. With the dozens of compartments, it should work. “Sure, buddy. We’ll pack it up when we’re done eating.”

There are actually less Legos left that Dean imagined, so organizing everything so that Ben can work on it at Charlie’s apartment is easier than he expected. Ben hums from the backseat the entire way across the river, but Dean doesn’t turn on the radio to drown him out as he usually does. There’s something strangely calming about the monotone droning of Ben’s voice.

Ben has been to Charlie’s apartment enough times in the last few months that he knows exactly where to set up his toys in front of the television. Charlie has even started stocking Ben’s favorite juice and snacks along with the refreshments for the adults. Andy, a young scruffy guy who smells faintly of pot, and Dorothy are already there. Andy seems a little jumpy, but as long as Dean doesn’t have to tolerate Gerry, he’s okay with the switch. At the last game night, Gerry spent the whole night speaking in a fake British accent and insisting everyone call him by his character’s name. Dean’s not sure where Charlie meets these people, but they are certainly interesting, to say the least.

Dorothy takes their coats and throws them through the open door onto Charlie’s bed. The intense dark haired woman has been around enough lately that he’s pretty sure she and Charlie are sleeping together, though neither of them acknowledges it around other people.

Once Charlie explains the intricate rules of the game, Dean really does get into it. Unlike a lot of the games they’ve played, this one requires the players to work together to gather the treasure and survive the dungeon. Dean is even happier that Gerry couldn’t make it because that egomaniac would have made everyone miserable.

By the end of the game, only Dorothy and Dean were left alive. “I really thought that sarall was going to get us before we made it out,” Dorothy exclaims, giving Dean a high five.

“That would have freaking sucked, getting killed on the next to the last roll,” Dean agrees. Although Andy and Charlie had been killed off by monsters earlier, the game had everyone on the edge of their seats. Even Ben had wandered through the kitchen a few times to see what the adults were yelling about.

All in all, Dean is glad he came. Andy turned out to be pretty cool. They like the same kind of music and Andy plays drums in a local band with his girlfriend. He and Dean exchanged numbers so Andy could let him know about upcoming gigs. Dorothy had gotten so excited during a particularly vicious battle that she leaned over and kissed Charlie on the lips when she won. She blushed scarlet and Charlie looked shocked, so both Dean and Andy pretended like they didn’t notice.

Best of all, the evening has distracted Dean from thinking about Cas or Ash. Other than a text to say that he landed in California safely and a few random observations, Dean and Ash haven’t really talked since Christmas. It’s not so much that Dean is avoiding him, but they both agreed that they needed some time to figure things out. Being in a perpetual state of not knowing where his relationships with them stand is starting to wear on him.

Andy takes off first, saying that he promised his girlfriend he wouldn’t be out too late, and Dorothy leaves not long afterward. Dean expected her to stay the night, but he doesn’t comment when Charlie kisses her on the cheek at the door. They make a cute couple and it’s nice to see that at least someone has their shit together. Maybe it will rub off on him.

Dean is packing up the game pieces when Charlie comes back into the kitchen. She pulls two bottles of water from the fridge and plops down at the table across from him. “Cuttin’ you off, man. You gotta drive home,” she says, passing him one of the bottles.

“I only had two beers, Char. I think I can handle it, but yeah, time to switch to water.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, picking at the nachos and cheese doodles still left on the table. Finally, Charlie clears her throat and leans forward. “What did you do to Castiel?” she asks, trying to look casual and failing.

“Whoa. What do you mean?”

“The dude’s been all sad puppy dog eyes all week. I ran into him in the staff lounge and he barely talked to me. Not that he’s usually a Chatty Cathy or anything, but it was weird,” she offers, stuffing another nacho into her mouth.

Dean leans back on his chair so he can see Ben still sitting in front of the television. The finished space station is on the coffee table in front of him. “What makes you think I did something?” he asks, meeting her eye.

She raises both eyebrows. “I asked him about Christmas and he got this look like someone just spilled soda on his X-men #94. He was celebrating with you guys, right?”

Dean flushes and looks away. “Yeah. Him and his brother and sister-in-law came over.”

“And?”

“And, uh, Ash was there and—” Dean starts, but Charlie cuts him off by cringing.

“Ahhh, that explains it.”

Dean’s forehead furrows in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Charlie sighs. “I know you’ve got a blind spot when it comes to Ash about a mile wide, but that boy is a troublemaker.”

“Charlie.”

“No, he is. What’d he do?”

Reluctantly, and with a great deal of prodding on Charlie’s part, Dean relates the entire story. At least, the entire story up to when Cas left. He doesn’t need the disappointed look he knows he’ll get if he admits that he had sex with Ash again. He can’t meet her eyes as it is.

“He’s an asshole,” she condemns, shaking her head in disgust. “Why do you put up with his shit?”

“Because it’s, you know, it’s Ash.”

Charlie scoffs. “Dude, he’s manipulating you again and you’re so wrapped up in him that you don’t even see it.”

“Manipulating? No. I mean, yeah, he likes to jerk people’s chains, but—”

“You’ve always been blind to the shit he does. He’s been playing you since we were kids. Things weren’t as Rainbow Brite as you remember them.”

“Sure, we fought, but—” Dean defends.

“And you fought on Christmas?” she interrupts.  Dean nods. “Uh huh. And then you ended up having sex,” she declares, raising one eyebrow in challenge.

Dean is too stunned to even cover for himself. “How did you know that?”

Charlie raises her eyes to the ceiling. “Give me strength,” she mutters before looking back at Dean. “Because that’s what he always does. Any time you were pissed at him for something or he wanted to get his own way, all he had to do was yank on your dick. Dude, it’s like an on-off switch for your brain.”

Dean wants to argue with her, but whether it’s to defend himself or to defend Ash he’s not sure, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Look,” she says kindly, patting his arm. “I’m not saying that Ash is a bad guy or that you guys weren’t good together. He loved you and I think he still does, but Ash can be pretty selfish. Deep down, he doesn’t want to hurt you, but I do think he’s got no problem hurting Castiel if he gets in the way of what Ash wants. The problem is right now Ash doesn’t know what he wants, so he’s playing both sides. Just like he always does.”

Dean presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “He didn’t do that shit with Lisa,” he asserts.

Charlie scoffs again. “He didn’t have to. You did just fine destroying that relationship on your own. Lisa was the rebound and you compared everything she did to Ash, or at least to your romanticized, blue-pill induced version of Ash.”

Dean takes his hands away from his eyes to run one around to the back of his neck. “So what do I do?”

“Do you like Castiel?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“’Cause you want to jump his bones?”

Dean flushes but looks right at her. “Not gonna lie, yeah, he’s hot, but it’s more than that. Like, I just wanna talk to him, you know? Hear what he thinks about stuff. Not just about Ben, but about everything.”

She nods. “Okay. Then you need to be friends with him. Stop the flirting and jerking him around and be friends with him. You owe him that. Whatever happens, your relationship with him needs to be based on more than just physical attraction. Castiel isn’t that kind of person.”

“Okay, yeah. I can do that.”

“Really?” she asks doubtfully. “Because you’ve never done it before, not since Ash.”

“What are you talking about? I have friends.”

“When was the last time you took the time to form an actual relationship with someone you wanted to sleep with?”

Dean is suspiciously quiet.

“You’ve got this rose-colored view of your relationship with Ash because you guys were friends. You did stuff together outside of the bedroom . . . or couch or dining room table or the backseat of the Impala, I never know with you two,” she trails off with a grimace. “Anywho, you’ve never let anyone else get close enough for that. Not even Lisa. So nothing compares to what you had because you don’t let it develop, then you’re disappointed and feel like something is missing, so you keep running back to Ash, and the cycle continues.”

Stifling his knee-jerk reflex to argue with her, Dean thinks about that. It’s true. He has very distinct categories he keeps people in. Friends, lovers and family. Ash is the only person that has ever fit in all three slots.  

Charlie can obviously see that Dean is really thinking about her words because she doesn’t continue for several moments. “Castiel has the potential to cross the lines, Dean. You just have to let him. Ultimately, this is about whether you have genuine feelings for him, not whether he makes a decent replacement for Ash.”

“Okay, yeah, I get it. I think I do anyway. I do really like Cas and I do miss him, but he’s not exactly talkin’ to me right now. I tried to talk to him at parent night but his attack girlfriend got in the way,” he says with a shudder.

“I assume you mean Meg?” Charlie retorts with a laugh. “She’s super protective of him. They go way back.”

Dean perks up. He hadn’t considered that he could just ask Charlie about Meg and Cas. “So, like, how far back? I mean, have they ever, you know, hooked up?”

“Not that I know of,” Charlie reports. “They’re just really good friends from way before either of them moved here. I doubt they ever did the horizontal mambo, though. I mean, I’m sure Meg swings like a pendulum, but Castiel is like a Kinsey five or six. Pretty sure he’s guys only.”

“Good to know. I seriously thought they were a couple.”

“Nah, they’ve just been friends forever,” she says, twisting the cap on her empty bottle repeatedly. “Got that old married couple vibe. If you’re going to make things right with him, you’re going to have to get past her. Seriously, dude, talk to him. With grown up words, not that grunting and half-baked innuendo you Neanderthals consider talking.”

Dean reaches across the table to pull her into a hug. “How’d you get to be so smart, Char?”

“You don’t work your way up to dungeon master without learning a thing or two about people,” she says with a wink.

“Huh. I’ll keep that in mind.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving forward is a lot harder than standing still. The stage is set, now we just have to wait for Dean to decide to actually work for something that he wants.
> 
> I'm not really in love with Dean's part of this chapter, but I think it gets across what I needed it to. Let me know what you think.

The kitchen floor is cold on Castiel’s bare feet, so he takes his tea and shuffles into the living room. It looks naked now that he has taken the tree down, but it leaves a clear view through the windows into the snow covered back yard. It’s snowing, just slightly, tiny fluffy flakes that catch on ice-encased branches. It hasn’t warmed up enough to melt off the ice storm from earlier in the week and it makes the trees glisten in the light from the windows.

Juliet curls up against his legs as he sinks into the couch and takes a sip of his tea. The silver and blue box promised _Christmas in Paris_. Castiel has never been to Paris, but the tea is delightful, so it doesn’t really matter if it’s accurate.

He sets his tea aside and picks up his book, a used copy of _All My Puny Sorrows_ one of the secretaries at the school had lent him before the holiday. It’s a perfect read for the reflective mood he’s been in lately. He’s barely two pages into the next chapter when his phone buzzes. He tries not to grumble as he pulls it out of his pocket.

**[Meg] 8:42PM: Get dressed**

Castiel looks down at the worn pair of lounge pants and the Northwestern sweatshirt he’s wearing. 

_[You] 8:43PM: I am clothed_

**[Meg] 8:43PM: Not in your pajamas, grandpa. Put on those jeans that show off your ass. We’re going out.**

_[You] 8:44PM: I am not_

**[Meg] 8:45PM: Yes you are. Just pulled out of Zar’s driveway. If you’re not dressed by the time we get there, I will dress you.**

He lays his book aside with a sigh. He doesn’t want to get dressed up and go out to some club with Meg and Balthazar. Their scene is not his scene, especially since he knows they will be trying their hardest to hook him up with someone. Is it so wrong to just want a quiet evening at home with his book and his dog? Before he can respond, the phone buzzes again.

**[Meg] 8:47PM: One of your emo indie bands is playing at the granada. Stop moping over winchester and have some fun.**

He’s not moping. At least, he’s pretty sure he isn’t. It’s not as if he’s pining for the man, and he hadn’t exactly gone out frequently before Christmas. If he’s feeling the loneliness a little more sharply these days, it certainly isn’t the end of the world. Still, there are worse places they could drag him than the Granada. He sighs and gets up from the couch, taking his tea with him. He answers one handed as he climbs the stairs.

_[You] 8:49PM: Fine. Give me 15 minutes._

Balthazar is driving Meg’s SUV when they pull up the driveway.  Castiel hadn’t put on the jeans Meg suggested. Instead, he’d pulled on a pair of black slacks with a light knit gray sweater. Comfortable and unassuming.

Meg scowls when he climbs into the backseat. “Dammit, Clarence. You look like you’re going to work. Would it kill you to put on something sexy?”

“Meg, darling, leave him alone. Cassie looks delicious. The hot teacher look is in this year,” Balthazar says amiably, backing out onto the road.

“Thank you, Zar, I think,” Castiel retorts dryly.

“I just think it wouldn’t hurt to show off your assets a little.”

Castiel shrugs. “My assets are just fine, thank you.”

Balthazar catches his eye in the rearview mirror and winks as he pulls onto the highway to head downtown.

The band is just starting their first set when they arrive. Violet is behind the bar, as usual, her dark hair pulled up into a messy bun on top her head. She offers Castiel a harried smile when she sees him and opens a tab using his card. “Good night to make it out, teacher man,” she teases, setting drinks for Meg and Balthazar on the counter. She adds a third bottle that looks like a wine cooler. Meg raises one eyebrow when Castiel picks it up and takes a sip.

He lets out a short laugh. “It’s white tea, Meg. No alcohol.” Castiel had been surprised when Violet offered it to him the last time he was in the club, but it was certainly easier to enjoy his drink than carrying a teacup through the crowd.

“Jesus, you scared me. I was about to go kick Winchester’s ass for real.”

Castiel grimaces. “I think you are making a much bigger deal of this than I am, Meg. Yes, I was hurt and I do miss talking to him, but it is hardly a tragedy. I’m certainly not going to start drinking again because of him.”

Balthazar chooses that moment to step between them. “Come on, you two. We are here to have fun, yes? No fighting and no pining over silly boys.”

“I wasn’t,” Castiel starts, then cuts off at Balthazar’s pointed look. “Fine. Lead the way.”

Meg takes his arm as they weave through the crowd. Balthazar leads them to the edge of the dance floor in front of the stage. The band, a local one that Castiel has seen before, plays a mixture of alt-grunge originals and cover songs from the early ‘90s and Castiel finds himself swaying with the music.

As is often the case, the ebb and flow of the crowd quickly engulfs them, pulling them in closer to the stage. Most of the group are college-aged, which isn’t surprising given their proximity to the campus. They are rowdy, dancing and singing along to songs that had come out when Castiel was their age. It makes him feel old. It seems like forever ago that he was part of the press of bodies in front of the stage, unable to take his eyes off Michael as he strutted and preened. More than forever since Castiel had sung and danced the night away, drunk on both alcohol and the freedom of being away from his father for the first time. Sometimes Castiel wonders if that person ever really existed or if he was just a reflection of Michael saw in him.

It doesn’t take long for Balthazar to slide up next to a group of women who are more than a decade from being jailbait. He leans over and says something to the closest one, a tall blond who laughs at whatever pick-up line he used. Within minutes, she has one arm tucked around his neck as they sway together to the music. If it wasn’t for the fact that Balthazar never settles for very long, Castiel would envy his easy way with women. He wants more than a string of one-night stands and passionate flings.

Meg leans over and says something that Castiel doesn’t catch. He leans down and she presses her mouth against his ear. “That guy over there is watching you,” she yells, motioning with her eyes.

Castiel glances over her head quickly, then back down. A guy slouches near the pile of amps, tight black jeans and a t-shirt for the band on the stage. Although he’s about Castiel’s height, with black hair that falls messily over one eye, his build is bulkier and he fills out the t-shirt well. He’s good looking, with a chiseled jaw that hasn’t seen a razor in several days, and he’s clearly staring right at them. “How do you know he’s watching me? He could be interested in you.”

Meg pats him on the arm patronizingly. “I think your gaydar is broken, bucko. He’s definitely looking at you.”

Castiel sneaks another look at the man. The shorter guy standing next to him says something that makes him grin, but he doesn’t look away. He narrows his eyes slightly and Castiel is fairly certain he’s been caught. He quickly glances back down. “Meg, I’m not here to pick up a man.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Castiel. I’m not telling you to suck him off in the bathroom,” she shouts over the music. “Just have some fun. You remember how to have fun, right? The Castiel I met in Chicago would have been right in the middle of that crowd.”

“That Castiel doesn’t exist anymore.”

Her eyes are sharp when she pulls back to glare at him. “Bullshit. It wasn’t the alcohol, it wasn’t the drugs, and it sure as hell wasn’t Michael. You were one of them. You fit in with a crowd just like this. Do you think any of these kids can even imagine what you’re hiding under that sweater?” She grabs one sleeve and slides it up to reveal the lotus blossom tattooed on his wrist. She runs her fingers over it before pulling the fabric back down. “That guy is still in there, and if you’d stop trying so damn hard to bury him, maybe you’d find what you’re looking for.”

That’s as close to poetic as Meg ever gets, so Castiel knows better than to push her. Maybe she’s right. He knew how to do this once; how to go to a club, dance, and have fun. After all, that was how he met Michael to begin with. “Okay, fine,” he responds with resolve.

“Aww, I’m proud of you, Clarence,” she says with a wicked grin. “I’ll just give you some space. If it takes longer than five minutes for him to come over here, we’ll go home.” She glances over to where Balthazar is grinding against the pretty blond woman. “Either way, I think we’ve lost Zar.”

Before Castiel can ask what she plans to do, Meg saunters away, her drink held above her head to keep it from getting spilled. She stops next to a group of guys, her hips moving to the music, and it doesn’t take long for them to notice her. A muscular, blond kid leans close and says something that makes Meg laugh, and she slides her arm around his neck as they are swallowed up by the crowd. Castiel loses sight of her after that.

He forces himself not to look back over at the man near the stage. Instead, he lets himself be caught up in the music, an old Green Day song that Castiel remembers from the year he and Michael met, the year he switched his major from Chemical Engineering to Art Theory and never looked back. He begins to bob his head to the beat and bounce a little on his toes; his body remembers dancing to this music even if the rest of him has forgotten.

When the song ends and drifts into another cover, Castiel looks over at the stage. The man is still there, but this time when he sees Castiel watching him, he quirks one eyebrow. It’s a motion that is so familiar that Castiel smiles. The man must take that as a good sign because he pushes away from the stage and starts to make his way through the throngs of drunk college kids. He stops beside Castiel, tilting his head in greeting.

“I’ve seen you here before,” he yells over the music, then laughs. “That’s not a pick-up line. Well, I guess it is sort of a pick-up line, but it’s also the truth.” He swipes his free hand, the one not holding his beer, over his face with a grimace. “Wow, I’m really botching this.”

Castiel likes the way his dark eyes crinkle up at the corners when he laughs. “You’re not. I have been here before,” he offers. Up close, he’s even more muscular than he appeared from across the hazy room. The fabric stretches across his chest in an appealing way. He motions toward the man’s t-shirt. “Are you with the band?”

He shakes his head. “I run sound for the club. Free band shirts are just one of the perks. I’m Will, by the way.”

He puts his hand out for Castiel to shake, and there’s only a moment of hesitation before he takes it. His palm is smooth, but the tips of his fingers are rough as they drag against Castiel’s skin. A guitarist’s hands. “Castiel,” he responds, waiting for the inevitable question about his name but it never comes.  Will just inclines his head in acknowledgment.

The song ends, fading into an original tune and they let the conversation die away. It’s too hard to hear over the noise anyway. They stand like that, side by side, listening to the music for a few minutes. The rhythm is catchy, with a beat that reverberates in his chest. When he feels the light, almost tentative drag of Will’s fingertips against the small of his back, Castiel isn’t particularly surprised. He remembers this part, the first hesitant dance of attraction while everyone tries to figure out whether the other party is interested. It’s different than the kind of ritual Jacob had employed while sitting at the bar. This is physical, sensual. The sound washing over them prevents words, so questions are both asked and answered with their bodies.

There’s a moment of tension, that buzzing under his skin that tells him to escape when someone touches him. Instead of heading it, Castiel leans into the contact, swaying slightly with the music. Will slips closer, moving so that he’s behind Castiel while the hand that had been on his back slides around to settle on his hip. Will tugs gently and Castiel goes with the pressure, allowing his body to melt back against the other man.

He is torn between reveling in the feeling of another body pressed against his own and shock at how easily they move together. It has been over two years since anyone has touched him this way and it is both thrilling and terrifying. His mind screams at him to move away from Will’s touch, but his body seems to crave the physical contact. He takes a deep breath and forces his mind to shut up.

Castiel allows his eyes to slip shut as Will’s body begins to move more forcefully to the beat. He goes with it, letting the shock waves of percussion move through him.  It isn’t perfect, this connection between them. It isn’t everything that Castiel wants or dreams of, but for tonight, it’s enough.

* * *

* * *

Although working with family is often a pain in the ass, on days like this Dean is grateful for it. When Missouri called to say Ben was freaking out, Dean hadn't even asked to leave.  Bobby had just pointed at door without even looking up from his paperwork.

As soon as he got the call, Dean texted Cas, but the other man hasn't responded.  He just hopes someone is at the school to let him in to look for Benson. According to Missouri, Ben had noticed on the bus that he had forgotten the stuffed dog at the school. He was in full meltdown by the time they dropped him off.

There are only a couple cars in the parking lot even though it’s only four thirty. Dean parks as close to the front door as he can get and resolutely doesn't run, even though he's beginning to panic.  If he can't find the dog, the rest of the evening, and probably tomorrow morning as well, will be a nightmare. He's already trying to figure out what he can bribe Ben with.  Dammit, why hasn't Cas responded?  The man may be upset with Dean, but he doesn't think Cas would take that out on Ben.

Thankfully, the front door of the school is unlocked.  He rushes in then stops.  He's pretty sure he shouldn't just be wandering the school by himself.  In a stroke of luck, Dean sees Dirk McGregor coming down the hallway carrying a bag of garbage. “Hey, man!” Dean calls, getting the man's attention

“Winchester!” he responds with a smile. Dirk had been year ahead of Dean in school, and though they hadn't really been friends, they’d known each other in passing. “Schools over for the day, dude. You're late.”

“Haha. Listen, my kid left his toy here and he’s freakin’ out. Any way I could go look for it?”

Dirk glances back down the hallway where he came from. “Sure, what class? I can let you in.”

“Mr. Novak,” Dean says.  “Ben told his sitter he remembers having it there.”

“You're in luck. They're still there. Got some big wig from the state comin’ in so they're sprucin’ up some.  You know where it is?”  At Dean’s nod, he grins again.  “Good.  I gotta get the rest of my rounds done, but you can just head on down. Hope you find the thing. “

As Dean starts down the hallway, he hears music playing from somewhere in the school. He follows the sound as it gets louder, echoing in the empty hallway until it leads him right to Cas’ open door. It is some kind of mid-‘90s grunge, Alice in Chains maybe, and the chords are harsher, more dissonant than the classic rock he usually prefers.

He’s about to knock on the open door when the scene inside the classroom stops him cold. Meg and Cas are both there and Dean can see where they’ve already made changes to the room since last week. What shocks Dean the most, though, is that both Meg and Cas are dancing to the grinding beat. Meg is swinging her hips and head-banging a little, her hair flipping around her face, but Dean can’t look away from the loose-limbed way that Cas moves to the music. It is completely unlike his usual reserved way of carrying himself.

To make matters worse, Cas is wearing only a tight white t-shirt instead of his usual button-down, the fabric pulling over the muscles of his back as he twists from the bookshelf to the table beside him. Dean is positive he’s never seen Cas in anything but long sleeves because he knows he would remember the tattoos that cover the other man’s arms.

From where he stands frozen in the doorway, Dean can see what look like blocky tribal designs peeking out of the bottoms of his sleeves, etching the well-developed muscles of his triceps. Farther down, a lotus flower covers one wrist while the other is decorated with an Egyptian symbol. When Cas turns to hoist a box of books up into the cabinet next to him, the shirt pulls up, teasing Dean with a glimpse of more intricate ink covering the other man’s torso and disappearing below the waistband of his trousers. Dean swallows thickly, the sudden mental image of what else Cas might be hiding under his clothes distracting him from his goal.

Unfortunately, that’s when Meg spots him, her hand coming down hard on the little radio on Cas’ desk to shut it off. Cas whirls at the sudden silence, his face flushing red when he sees Dean standing in the doorway. “Dean,” he exclaims. “What are you doing here?”

“Parent night isn’t for another two days, Mr. Winchester,” Meg cuts in, her acid tone drawing Dean’s attention. “Perhaps you’re confused again.”

“I’m not here for parent night, Miss Masters,” Dean retorts sweetly. Two can play this stupid game. By the time he turns back to Cas, the other man has shrugged back into a long-sleeved dress shirt and is buttoning the last button. “You don’t need to do that, Cas. I don’t know why you hide them, but your ink is awesome.”

A smile plays at the edge of Cas’ lips, but he doesn’t respond to Dean’s comment. “Did you need something?” he says instead. To the casual listener, Cas is nothing but polite and gracious, but Dean can hear the underlying tension. There’s a stiffness to his speech that has never been there before; as if all the warmth between them has been stripped away. The loss makes Dean’s chest ache.

“I, ah, Ben says he forgot Benson here. He’s kinda freakin’ out. Have you seen him?”

Something in Cas’ eyes softens at the mention of Ben. “I haven’t, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t here. Did he say where he left him?”

“Um, by the coat cubbies, I guess?”

Meg is closest to the line of hooks where the children hang their coats, so she strolls over to look. She leans over to slide her hand into the space between the last cubby and the wall, coming up with a slightly dusty Benson. “Crap falls down there all the time,” she says flippantly, tossing the dog to Dean.

As grateful as Dean is, and as much as he knows he should rush home with the toy, he can’t help but turn back to Cas. He wishes he knew how to get back what they’ve lost, what he screwed up at Christmas. Charlie says to be friends, but how do you pursue a friendship with someone who won’t even talk to you? He starts to step toward Cas, not even sure what he’s going to say, but Meg clears her throat pointedly.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Dean? A little boy crying over his stuffed toy to get home to?”

Dean shoots her a dirty look and then turns back to Cas. “I’d really like to talk to you,” he says sincerely. “I just, I think we got some things to say to each other.” His tone is imploring and he holds eye contact for as long as he can before letting his gaze drop. “Please, Cas,” he appeals, his voice cracking embarrassingly on the other man’s name.

For a moment, Dean thinks he is going to respond. Cas’ eyes narrow and his lips part enough to let out a soft huff of breath. For one second, Dean thinks he may actually get it all back. Then Cas flicks his eyes away and frowns. “You better get Benson back to Ben, Dean. I’m sure he’s very upset.”

Dean is disappointed, crushed really. He just wants to grab the man and shake him, force him to listen, but he knows it doesn’t work that way. If Cas doesn’t want to give him another chance, Dean knows he can’t make him. Fuck if that makes it hurt any less, though. “Yeah, you’re right. I better get home,” he says softly, trying not to let on how upset he is. Cas doesn’t respond and Meg turns the music back on as soon as Dean steps toward the door, effectively ending the conversation.

The drive home is blessedly short and Ben falls into his arms as soon as he opens Missouri’s front door. There are dried tear tracks on his face, eyes red and puffy from crying. He’s still sniffling even as he rubs the little, stuffed dog on his face and on his arms, finally ending with him tucked against his chin. “I missed him, daddy,” he whispers, face buried in Dean’s neck.

“I know, buddy, but I got him for you. Mr. Novak and Miss Masters kept him safe for you,” Dean responds, squeezing the little body tighter.

Missouri pulls Dean into a hug before they leave. “Bless you, boy,” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his face. “Thank God he has you.”  Throat tight, all Dean can do is hug her back and be grateful.

Dinner is quiet. Ben is still subdued and it’s clear that the distress of the afternoon has taken its toll on him. He keeps Benson right beside him throughout dinner, occasionally leaning over to whisper something in the dog’s floppy ear. Every time he looks at the dog with wide, watery eyes, it makes Dean’s insides clench.

“Daddy, what if Benson gets lost and we can’t find him,” Ben asks as they’re packing up the leftovers. The fear in his voice is devastating.

“We just need to keep an eye on him,” Dean responds, hoping that the reassurance will be enough.

But it isn’t enough. “What if he gets stolen?” Ben asks while Dean is picking out a movie for them to watch.

“I don’t think anyone wants to steal Benson.”

“I’ll miss him if he doesn’t come home,” Ben says as he settles on the edge of the couch, a Pixar short about an umbrella playing on the TV. His voice is beginning to waver a little.

“He’ll come home, Ben. Nothing is going to happen to him.”

Dean’s constant reassurance doesn’t help, though. By the time the monsters have been accepted to university, Ben is in tears again. “I don’t want Benson to go away, daddy. I’ll miss him so much,” he snuffles, hands holding tight to both Benson and Dean’s shirt.

Nothing Dean says or does is calming him down. It’s not a tantrum, not the kind Dean is used to anyway. Ben’s sobs are soul-shattering, deep shuddering things that shake his whole body. “You need to calm down, bud. You’re gonna make yourself sick. Daddy will keep Benson safe. Nothing is going to happen to him.”

Ben curls harder against Dean’s chest, tears soaking the entire front of his shirt. “I can’t, daddy,” he wails. “I can’t stop. My brain won’t let me stop thinking about it.”

Dean wracks his brain for things that have been suggested at the parent nights. He looks around the room for the calm down jar, eyes falling on the old comforter Dean keeps on the back of the chair instead. “Hey, buddy. Do you want me to wrap you up tight and hug you and Benson? Do you think that will help?” He remembers Cas talking about how swaddling can help center a child when they’re going into sensory overload.

Ben nods, letting out a watery hiccup, so Dean shuffles to the end of the couch where he can lean over and grab the blanket. He lies down on the couch with the blanket on top of him and then puts Ben on his chest. Using his arms to wrap the blanket, he tucks Ben in until he is enveloped in the blanket snugly. “That too tight?” he asks, rolling so he’s on his side and Ben is tucked into the C made by his body.

Ben shakes his head, still crying steadily. “Feels good, daddy.”

Dean holds him, barely paying attention to the animated story playing out on the television. He keeps Ben snug against him with one arm, while his other hand runs gently through Ben’s hair. After a while, though Dean couldn’t have said how long, Ben sighs and relaxes against him. He’d been so caught up in listening to the sound of Ben’s breathing that he hadn’t noticed when he stopped crying.

“It doesn’t itch anymore,” Ben says, his voice soft and drowsy.

“What doesn’t itch?”

“My brain,” Ben responds, shifting his body so that he snuggles tighter against Dean. “It kept itching and itching and telling me bad stuff was gonna happen to Benson, but it’s all quiet and not itchy now.”

Dean has to swallow hard before answering, tears threatening to spill over. He can’t even begin to imagine what simple, everyday things are like for Ben or how hard it is to have a brain that won’t let him control it. “That’s good, buddy. I’m glad this helped make it stop itching.”

He holds Ben for another twenty minutes until he can feel himself start to doze off. “Hey, buddy. Let’s get ready for bed.” Ben doesn’t give him any problems with his night time routine, his little body worn out from the emotional upheaval of the day. Dean completely sympathizes with his exhaustion.

Once Ben is tucked into bed and Dean’s old guitar is back on the stand in his room, he pulls out the mahogany Martin. He hasn’t played it since New Year’s Eve, when his father had insisted he play Auld Lang Syne, but it’s too beautiful of an instrument to leave languishing in the closet. Dean runs through some chords, his fingers automatically strumming the opening to _Picture in a Frame_.

He hasn’t spoken to or texted Ash in four days, the longest they’ve gone without talking to each other since before John, Dean and Sam moved back to Lawrence permanently in tenth grade. It’s weird not to have a running commentary of random thoughts and dirty jokes every time he turns on his phone.

Even stranger is the hole left by not talking to Cas. He strums the guitar, picking out the opening chords to the only Alice in Chains song he knows. _Nutshell_ isn’t the most cheerful song, and it makes him inextricably sadder. “We chase misprinted lies. We face the path of time, and yet I fight, and yet I fight this battle all alone,” he sings softly. Letting the soft trembling of the strings fade away, Dean lays the guitar on the bed next to him and picks up his phone.

_[You] 9:17PM: Ben was real upset abt Benson, but we did the blanket thing and he calmed down. No tantrum._

He lays the phone down, hoping for an answer but not really expecting one. After five minutes have passed and his phone is still dark and silent, Dean picks up the guitar and starts the next verse. When the screen finally lights up, a soft buzz against the comforter, Dean forces himself to finish the song before reaching for it.

**[Cas] 9:26PM: That’s very good. I’m glad he is okay.**

_[You] 9:27PM: He talked to me instead of just crying. He’s learning a lot from u_  

**[Cas] 9:27PM: He’s maturing**

Dean wants to keep the conversation going but he’s not sure what else to say, especially now that Cas is finally responding. He takes a shot even though he’s pretty sure it’s going to backfire.

_[You] 9:30PM: Bobby cleaned out the back bay if you want to bring the IROC in._

There’s another long stretch of silence while Dean waits for Cas’ response. He has to tell himself several times to stop holding his breath.

**[Cas] 9:35PM: It’s late. I’m going to bed.**

Dean sighs. He should have known better.

_[You] 9:36PM: Ok. Good night Cas_

He lays the guitar back in the case and props it against the wall. He avoids the phone on the nightstand while he gets ready for bed. He turns out the light and lies in the dark, listening to the silence of the house and ignoring the dull ache in his chest. Just before he falls asleep, a text message lights up his phone. He rolls over to look at it.

**[Cas] 9:47PM: We’ll talk, Dean. Good night.**

It will have to be enough.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, at least they're talking, right? 
> 
> Comments are like air, let me know what you think. :)
> 
> Chapter warning: a homophobic slur is used when talking about Dean's past.

Gravel crunches under the Impala’s wheels as Dean pulls into the Roadhouse parking lot. It may have stopped snowing but the air is still frigid so he finds a space as close to the door as he can before going around to help Ben out of the car. Benson is tucked snugly inside Ben’s coat, the soft fabric nose peeking out of his collar.

Dean hasn’t really felt like socializing lately, but when Sam called to say that Jess would be out of town for two days at a nursing conference, it was hard to turn down an invitation to meet him for dinner. With all the new demands, Dean hasn’t had as much time to cook as he used to, so he’s getting a little tired of leftovers and microwave pizza.

“He’s in the back with mom,” Jo calls from the bar as they walk in. “You guys are at the booth in the back corner.” There are only a few other patrons this early in the afternoon, so Dean and Ben sit at the bar while they’re waiting for Sam.

“Did he order yet?” Dean asks, letting Ben crawl up onto his lap.

“Nah, he said he’d wait for you. Mom had some problems with the liquor board, so Sam’s takin’ a look at the paperwork for her.”

Jo brings a beer for Dean and apple juice for Ben and they wander back to their booth while Jo waits on the other patrons. He grabs a menu and flips through it idly even though he already knows what he’s going to order. A double hamburger with fries for himself and a grilled cheese sandwich for Ben. They rarely get anything different.

“Hey, you been waiting long?” Sam asks, sliding into the booth across from them. He’s wearing a pale gray beanie that holds his hair back, making Dean chuckle. He snags it off his brother’s head and flicks it at Jo as she approaches the table to take their order. She plucks it out of the air and hands it back to Sam with a smirk before setting down crayons and a coloring book in front of Ben.

“Spoilsport,” Dean mutters, before turning back to Sam. “Nah, man. Just got here. Took some time to shovel Missouri’s walk when I picked Ben up. That high school kid next door used to do it, but I guess he’s too busy with his new girlfriend or whatever. Last thing we need is her slippin’ and fallin’.”

There’s a shuffle of menus and Sam mocking their repetitive food choices before Jo heads off to the kitchen with their orders. After a few minutes of small talk about the weather Sam pulls a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and slides it across the table. “I’m supposed to ask you about that.”

Dean takes the paper and unfolds it. It’s a flyer for the children’s museum in Topeka. He looks up at his brother questioningly.

“There’s an interactive play Saturday that Jess and I want to take Ben to.”

Dean shrugs. “Okay. We don’t have plans. We can meet you at your—”

Sam cuts him off with a shake of his head and a quick glance at Ben, who doesn’t look like he’s paying attention. “No, I mean, we were thinking Ben could stay over Friday night and we’d take him on Saturday. Give you some time to yourself.”

Dean frowns. “I don’t know, man. He doesn’t really—”

“Dean. He’ll be fine,” Sam insists. “You bring him over Friday night and do your bedtime thing. We’ll go to the show on Saturday and have him home before it’s time for bed. With how busy everyone is, we don’t get to spend enough time with him and it would be good for you to have a weekend to, I don’t know, recharge or whatever.

Before Dean can open his mouth to argue, Ben cuts in. “Can I go, daddy? They have a space show and a map of the stars in a big room.”

Dean pulls a face. It’s not like this would be the first time Ben slept overnight away from him. He’s even stayed at Sam and Jess’ before, but Dean has always picked Ben up in the morning. Sam is talking about almost twenty-four hours. That’s twelve hours longer than he’s been away from Ben since Lisa died.  What if something goes wrong? What if Ben has a meltdown? Will Sam and Jess know what to do? Dean’s stomach cramps at the thought. “What if something happens?” he asks, eyes trying to convey his concern to Sam without tipping off Ben.

Thankfully, Sam seems to understand exactly what has Dean nervous. “We can do this, Dean. We’ve watched how you deal with things for years. I can’t promise that there won’t be any issues, but we can handle them just the same as you can.”

Dean wants to say no. He wants to argue and insist that he go along. There are too many things that can go wrong.

“Can I go, daddy? Please?” Ben says again, looking up from his coloring with big green eyes that are Dean’s weakness.

“You can’t shelter him,” Sam adds. “You can’t wrap him in bubble wrap and protect him from the world. We’re his family. We won’t let anything happen to him. You need to take breaks too, Dean.”

Dean knows when he’s outnumbered. His stomach is still a roiling mess of anxiety, but he relents. “Fine. Okay, but if there’s any problems—”

Sam breaks in with a big smile. “We’ll call you immediately. I know, Dean. We got this. Why don’t you come over for dinner Friday night and then we’ll bring him back on Saturday?”

“By seven o’clock.”

Sam nods. “By seven o’clock, I promise.”

Dean sighs. “Okay, yeah. Fine.”  He’s still not okay with it. He’s still nervous as hell. “And you text me during the day and let me know what’s goin’ on.”

“Of course.”

“Okay, good. Fine.” Dean slides the paper back across the table just as Jo arrives with their food. The conversation shifts to lighter topics, like Garth’s upcoming engagement party and the possibility of a promotion for Sam at work. They’re lingering over the last few fries when Bobby wanders in.

Ben snags his coloring book and crayons and runs over to the older man. “Color with me, Uncle Bobby?”  

Bobby grouses and groans a little then rests his hand on Ben’s head affectionately. “Okay, kid. Get set up in that booth and I’ll be there in a minute.”

Sam grabs a dish pan from behind the bar and the brothers clear their table before finding seats at the bar. “Look at you two, actin’ like gentlemen and all,” Jo teases as she takes the plastic bin of dishes. “Two more beers?”

Dean glances down at his watch. It’s not even six yet. “Yeah, I can have another.”  He’s been finding that his one beer weeknight limit has been slipping toward two and even three lately.

Sam accepts another bottle as well and they nurse their beers in silence for a while. “Are you going to parent night? That’s tomorrow night, right?” Sam finally breaks the silence.

Dean grimaces. After last week, sitting in parent night is the last thing he wants. “I doubt it.”

“I was thinking about maybe coming along if you go. Jess won’t be home until late so I figured it would be a good refresher before Saturday.”

Damn. It would be a good idea for Sam to get some pointers before the weekend, but the last thing Dean wants is for Sam to witness the awkwardness between him and Cas. “Oh. Yeah, well, I’ll let you know if we go. Not sure we’ll make it.”

There’s a moment of silence in which Dean is pretty sure Sam is gearing up to say something Dean won’t like. He’s gotten pretty good at reading Sam’s bitchfaces over the years. Finally, Sam sighs and says, “That have anything to do with why you’ve been in a mood the past few weeks?”

Yep. There it is. “What the hell are you talkin’ about? I’m fine.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “No, you’re not. I’m not blind, Dean. I can tell you’re messed up over what happened at Christmas.”

Jo lets out a laugh from the other end of the bar. “You mean when he banged my brother on my couch?”

“Jesus, Joanna. I told you I was sorry. You wanna bring your boy toy of the week over and have a go in my living room? I’ll leave the light on for you,” Dean growls, flipping her off. Jo sticks her tongue out and turns away.

Sam holds up a placating hand. “I was actually talking about Cas, but yeah probably not your best moment there either.”

“When did this family turn into a bunch a’ life coaches? I’m good. Fine even. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“So then there’s no reason not to go to parent night.” Sam sits back and takes a long drink of his beer, not looking at Dean.

“I don’t always get off work in time. We’ve been busy.”

Sam spins around on his stool and calls across the bar. “Hey, Bobby, any reason Dean can’t get off work in time to make it to parent night tomorrow night?”

“Don’t see why not,” the older man says, not looking up from his coloring page. “Been stupid slow this week.”

Dean groans. “Dammit, Bobby!”

“Don’t get lippy with me, boy. I ain’t lyin’ for you.”

Sam turns back around, one eyebrow raised. He’s silent until Dean finally breaks.

“Fine. Cas isn’t talkin’ to me, okay. You happy now?” He swallows the rest of his beer and immediately wishes for another one.

“He was pretty upset on Christmas. I thought you guys were, I don’t know, working toward something, and then it all went to hell. I mean, I get that Ash can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he was really bad. It was like he was intentionally trying to run Cas off and you just let him.”

Dean doesn’t really want to talk about this, but he knows that Sam will keep going until he drags it out of him. Or he’ll start calling around to Dean’s friends until he finds one that Dean has spilled his guts to. It won’t take long for him to get to Charlie. “Ash might be moving home,” he admits.

“By home, you mean back to Lawrence?” Sam asks in shock. That clearly wasn’t what he was expecting.

Dean shrugs. “His company is goin’ under and Ellen got him an interview with a place in Kansas City. So maybe not to Lawrence, but not on the west coast either.”

Sam takes a moment to process that news. “So, are you getting back together?”

Dean shrugs again. It’s a movement that seems to sum up his whole life these days. “I don’t even know what he’s planning to do.”

“That’s a bunch of bullshit, Dean,” Sam declares, slapping one hand on the bar angrily. “Typical Ash. No, you know what, typical you, too. He keeps you on this chain and he just jerks it whenever he wants, and you let him. You can’t spend your whole life waiting for Ash to figure out what he wants.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Dean admits, his voice gruff. That’s certainly not a sentiment he expresses easily.

“Figure it out. Figure out what you want, not what Ash wants. If that’s Ash, fine. If that’s Cas, fine. If that’s somebody else or nobody at all, fine. But figure it the hell out, man, and fight for it. Don’t just roll over and take what people give you,” Sam suggests, then adds softly, “like you did when Ash left.”

Dean’s first reaction is to get angry. “What the hell do you know about it? You weren’t here. It was just me and dad while you were on the other side of the country. I had to make the hard choices while you got exactly what you wanted.”

Sam doesn’t back down. “That’s bullshit and you know it, Dean. You weren’t alone. Bobby, Ellen, everyone here, would have helped dad. You could have fought for Ash, insisted that you go with him, or insisted he stay here. But you didn’t, you just rolled over and let him do whatever he wanted. It’s what you’ve been doing with him your whole life. You wrote him a blank check twenty years ago and he’s been cashing it ever since.”

Dean is reminded of what Charlie said, how he has a blind spot when it comes to Ash that has allowed the other man to manipulate him.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t love you, Dean. But that’s not enough. It wasn’t enough with Cassie or Lisa either. You just let other people do what they want, and then when it doesn’t work out it’s not your fault,” Sam continues.

Dean can’t deny that. “I spent so long takin’ care of everything, Sammy. My whole life. What’s so wrong with lettin’ other people make the decisions? When it all goes to hell, like it always does, it won’t be me that ruined their lives. I’m shit at relationships, man. I can’t be responsible for somebody else’s happiness.”

Sam puts his hand lightly on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re not responsible for their happiness either way, Dean. That’s not what a relationship is.”

“Then I don’t know what it is, ‘cause bein’ responsible for other people, for you and dad and Ben, is all I’ve ever been good at.” He looks longingly at the bottles of whiskey lined up behind the bar. It’s still early, a shot wouldn’t hurt.

“Do you want to be with Cas?” Sam asks and Dean’s eyes snap up to him.

“I don’t know. I mean, I like the guy a lot but we’ve spent the last four months dancin’ around each other. I didn’t even realize he wanted more, but I guess he did, and I fucked it all up,” Dean reaches for his bottle and then sets it back down when he remembers that it’s empty.

“So talk to him.”

Dean lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “What the hell do I even say? Sorry my apparently sort-of not-ex-boyfriend fucked up Christmas?”

“Yeah, you could start there.”

“He’s barely responding to my texts.”

Sam shakes his head. “Not texts, Dean. Words. You need to talk to him. Be honest with him. Tell him how you feel. That you want to be friends, and maybe more, but that you’re not in a good place right now. And be honest about Ash. Don’t leave him hanging, wondering where you’re coming from.”

“Huh,” Dean grunts, looking past Sam to where Bobby is sitting with Ben. “I guess that’s an approach I haven’t tried.”

* * *

* * *

More yellow, Castiel thinks, glancing down at the reference photo tacked on his easel. When Gabriel and Kali saw the painting he’d done of his backyard, they immediately asked if he would do one of their summer house in New Hampshire. As supportive as they’ve been, he couldn’t refuse.

Finishing the last bit of flowers around the front of the house, Castiel lays his brush aside and picks up his phone to check the time. Just after three o’clock, leaving him plenty of time to get some more work done before getting cleaned up. Although he’s not particularly interested in the band that is playing at the Granada tonight, he has been thinking about going in an effort to run into Will again.

Despite Meg’s insistence, he’d left the club without exchanging numbers with the other man. Since he was working, Will had to spend the majority of the evening helping the band but managed to slip away for a song or two several more times. Rather than stressing over what he should do or where it was going, Castiel took Meg’s advice and just enjoyed dancing with a good-looking man who was obviously interested in him. It was completely outside of his comfort zone, but he had a good enough time that he’s been thinking all week about doing it again.

Castiel adjusts the paints on his palette, but before starting on the tree next to the house, he switches the sound system to a different playlist. In contrast to his usual alternative/grunge selections, he’s been delving into more current folk rock bands thanks to a few suggestions by Charlie. If he’s going to change the way he does things, he might as well start simple.

He has the majority of the base color down for the tree when his phone buzzes, lighting up the screen with a text message. He leans over to look at it and his heart clenches painfully.

**[Dean] 3:21PM: I’m sorry**

Castiel stares at the screen until another text pops up.

**[Dean] 3:22PM: I miss talking to you.**

He continues to stare at it until the screen goes dark, paintbrush gripped painfully tight in his fist. What should he do? He knows what Meg would say. She would tell him to ignore Dean’s messages, or to tell him that they should only talk about Ben, but that’s not really what he wants. He misses Dean too. He’s not sure what that means, but he knows he can’t pretend it isn’t true. He lays the brush aside and picks up his phone.

 _[You] 3:24PM: I miss talking to you too_  

It only takes a few seconds for a response, but Castiel holds his breath until the phone buzzes again.

**[Dean] 3:24PM: Can we talk? I don’t want to do this over the phone**

Castiel looks down at the lounge pants and t-shirt he’s wearing. His feet are bare and his hair is still a wreck from towel drying it after his shower earlier. He’s not exactly dressed to go out. He should tell Dean that it isn’t a good time, but he’s not sure when a good time would really be. No matter how long he puts it off, he’s not really going to be prepared for whatever Dean has to say. And if he’s being perfectly honest, he wants to see the other man. He wants answers; wants to ask where everything went wrong.

 _[You] 3:27PM: Do you want to come to my house?_  

**[Dean] 3:28PM: Sure, if your ok with that. Sam’s got Ben, so I can come right over. 20 mins?**

Castiel takes a deep breath before he sends a confirmation, then rushes to clean up his workspace before sprinting upstairs to find clothes that aren’t covered in paint. He’s still wrestling with his hair when he hears what must be the rumble of the Impala in the driveway then the doorbell. Juliet barks twice, but immediately quiets at his sharp command and follows him to the door.

He’s no more prepared to see Dean when he pulls open the door than he was at parent night over a week ago. He’d waited with mounting tension through the first twenty minutes of this week’s meeting, but Dean and Ben never came. He wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

Dean stands in front of his door with his hands shoved into the pockets of his brown leather jacket, wearing tight blue jeans with his usual work boots and an ochre Henley. His eyes seem darker than usual, hooded and evasive. No matter how he might feel about Dean’s behavior, Castiel can’t deny that he is an exceptionally gorgeous man. 

Castiel clears his throat and steps back from the door so that Dean can enter before closing the door behind him. Juliet is thankfully well-behaved and Dean leans over to pet the top of her head before turning to Castiel.

“Heya, Cas,” he says softly, eyes darting to Castiel’s face and then quickly away.

Castiel swallows. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean glances down and takes in Castiel’s bare feet before bending down to remove his own shoes. With the mucky weather, Castiel appreciates the gesture. He lines Dean’s boots up at the door next to his own and turns toward the kitchen.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks, turning back to ensure that Dean is following him. Dean is close enough that there is an awkward moment when they almost collide in the hallway.

Dean laughs uncomfortably. “I doubt you have the kind of drink I need to get through this conversation.”

Castiel frowns. “That bad? Well, I might have a leftover bottle of wine from the last time Meg and Balthazar were here, but maybe it would be better for both of us if we got through this without being inebriated.”

Dean pulls in a deep breath then lets it out slowly. “Yeah, probably. Maybe we could just, ah, sit or something?”

Castiel leads him into the living room, taking a seat in the chair on the opposite end of the couch from where Dean sits. Juliet curls up at his feet, head resting against his ankle.

Dean looks around the room, taking in the tall picture windows and the elaborate gardens beyond them. “This is a really nice place,” he observes.

Castiel smiles gently. “Thank you, but I don’t think you came here to talk about my house.”

Dean’s eyes flick to Castiel’s face then away again, his brows pulling together. “Yeah, okay. I, ah, I suck at this talkin’ stuff, so, ah, I’m sorry,” he says, looking anywhere in the room except at Castiel.

“You said that.” Castiel feels like an ass for being difficult, but they’ve done enough circling around each other without being clear about what they’re saying. That’s what led to this mess.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, I did. I know Christmas was screwed up and I didn’t mean it to go that way. I guess I’m just sorry you got caught up in the bullshit between me and Ash.”

Castiel nods then takes a few breaths before responding. “Why did you invite me to Christmas?”

“Because we’re friends, or at least we were, and I didn’t want you to spend it in some crappy restaurant.”

“I need to be clear, Dean, so I’m going to be blunt,” Castiel says, drawing Dean’s gaze back to him. “Have you had intentions for our relationship that are more than friendship? Romantic intentions?”

Dean flinches and looks down at his hands. He stares at them as if the answer is there, before looking back up to meet Castiel’s eyes. “I did. Yeah. I like you, like spending time with you and I thought you were interested, but then you came over for movie night and I tried flirting with you, but you got weird and it was pretty obvious you weren’t, so I let it go.” Dean cuts off, obviously realizing he’s rambling, and waits for Castiel to respond.

“There’s been a lot of miscommunication between us, Dean. I was under the impression that evening that you were in a romantic relationship with Jo.”

Despite his discomfort, Dean lets out a bark of laughter. “Jo? Holy hell, man. That would be like dating my sister.”

“Well, yes, I realize that now, but at the time I thought that you were spoken for.”

“Huh,” Dean says, grabbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I figured you and Meg were a thing.”

It’s Castiel’s turn to be shocked. “Meg and myself? No, definitely not. Meg is my closest friend, but there has never been anything romantic or sexual between us. I’m gay, Dean.”

“I get that now.” They sit in silence for a few moments, before Dean continues. “So, yeah, anyway. I was interested in you, as more than a friend.”

Castiel raises one eyebrow. “Was.”

Dean sighs. “Well, to be honest, I still am, but I don’t think that’s really a great idea right now.”

“Because of Ash.”

Dean glances away again. “Yeah. I don’t want to bore you with the details, but I figure you deserve to know what you got caught up in at Christmas, why he was such an ass and all.” At Castiel’s encouraging nod, he continues. “Ash and I have been together, I mean, friends, boyfriends, whatever, off and on since we were fourteen. He was my first kiss. Not just first kiss with a guy, but first kiss at all. I knew I liked girls too by that point, but I never really had the chance to get that far with a girl.”

Dean has shared enough information about his childhood previously for Castiel to read between the lines. “Ash represented stability to you. No matter how much your father moved you around, you always knew he was here in Lawrence, that you would be coming back to him.”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. A lot of people talk about being scared shitless the first time they kiss another guy, but it wasn’t like that for me. I’ve known Ash my whole life and I think I’ve always known we were special, like, different than any of my other friendships. So that summer, when he kissed me, it was just finally puttin’ a name to what I already knew.”

Castiel thinks back to what Charlie told him. “And eventually, you ended up together, living together?”

“All through high school, I dated girls and he dated anyone who’d give him the time of day. When neither of us was with someone else, we’d mess around. But we never called it anything. We weren’t boyfriends, or whatever. Even though I was okay with knowin’ I liked guys, I was pretty damn sure that my old man would not be okay with it. He never missed a chance to say somethin’ shitty about Ash, called him a fag and all that, but I never stood up for him. Sometimes, I wish I could go take that back.”

He gets a faraway look in his eyes as if he’s reliving the past before he shakes himself out of it and continues. “Anyway, when Ash came back from college, I wasn’t seein’ anyone and we ended up makin’ it official. I came out, or was drug out when my dad caught us goin’ at it in the back room at Bobby’s garage, and we moved in together. We lived together for four years. Best damn four years of my whole life. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine, you know? Huh, stability, I guess.”

“But you haven’t been together? Charlie said you broke up.”

Dean cracks a small smile. “Asked Charlie about me, did you?” He grins at Castiel’s blush but continues. “Sammy was away at Stanford when my dad finally decided to get his shit together, get sober. He started goin’ to meetings, doing things the hard way, ‘cause that’s the only way my dad knows how to do things. He had six months under his belt when Ash came home one night and told me he got a job offer from some big computer company in California. That’s what he always wanted to do, computer programming and stuff. He said he was moving, but I couldn’t leave my dad, you know? He’d just started gettin’ it together and he was still shaky. Anyway, so I stayed and Ash went.”

“No long distance relationship?” Castiel asks though he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.

“Nah, we both figured we’d never keep that goin’. We both dated other people, but pretty much like high school, when he comes around and neither of us are involved, we hook up.”

“So you were intending to hook up with him at Christmas?”

For a moment, Castiel is pretty sure Dean is going to tell him to go to hell, but he just clenches and unclenches his jaw and then answers. “Honestly, I don’t know. I know it doesn’t help, but I really did think you and I were just friends. I get that I misread the whole damn thing, but if I had known you wanted anything but friendship, I wouldn’t have dragged you into that whole mess.”

Castiel wants to get up and pace. He wants to ask Dean to go away so he can think about everything Dean just told him and figure out how to react to it. But he doesn’t have that luxury, so he cuts to the question that has been running through his mind for the last two weeks. “Okay, so now what? Where does this leave us?”

Dean is silent for a long time. He glances at Castiel then away again; puts his hands in his pockets and slouches forward for a moment before sitting up straight. He looks back at Castiel. “I don’t know. I know that I miss talking to you. I miss bein’ friends. If I’m bein’ honest, and Sammy told me I should be honest, I’d like us to be more than friends, or at least try and see what happens. But I don’t think I can do that right now. I’m a freaking mess and there’s still a lot of bullshit with Ash that I gotta work through. I don’t wanna drag you into the middle of it.”

There’s a part of Castiel that wants Dean so badly that he wishes he could tell Dean that it doesn’t matter, that they’ll get past whatever the problems are with his ex-boyfriend. He wants to go back to feeling comfortable when Dean touches him and he wants to know what it’s like to know that he is desired by Dean. For a moment, the words are on the tip of his tongue. Then he looks at Dean, at the confusion in his eyes, and he knows that he would be doing them both a disservice if he takes the easy way out. It won’t stay easy for long and if they aren’t sure this is what they want, it will end up hurting both of them.

“I can be friends, Dean,” he says instead, his heart breaking a little. “I can’t give you more than that. Even though I think that we would be good together, that we’ve made the kind of connection I haven’t made with someone in a long time, I won’t let you use me. We’ll be friends. That’s all. Nothing else can happen between us until things are over with Ash, completely over. I don’t intend to be a temporary stop on your way back to him. I won’t put myself in that position.”

Castiel isn’t sure what he was expecting, but for Dean to be fighting back tears wasn’t it. His eyes glisten and he brushes the back of his hand across them to knock away any moisture before it falls. “I can do that. That’s more than I deserve,” he says softly, his voice a strangled imitation of its usual resonance.

“You have to be upfront with me. I won’t spend my time stumbling around in the dark wondering what you mean or what is happening. I’ll ask and you’ll tell me, and if you aren’t honest with me, I won’t be able to do this anymore. You’ve become very important to me, Dean, you and Ben both, but I won’t allow you to hurt me again,” Castiel insists, trying to keep his voice steady even though the sight of Dean so emotional is tearing him apart inside.

Dean nods, eyes wide. He maintains eye contact when he says, “I promise, Cas. I’m shit at talking about stuff, but for you, I’ll do it. I just don’t want to lose you.”

Castiel looks up at the big clock on the mantel and can’t believe it’s after six o’clock, more than two hours since Dean arrived. He feels raw and wrung out; like he just wants to crawl in bed with Juliet and sleep until tomorrow.  He offers to make tea, or to order food, but Dean refuses. He explains that Sam and Jess kept Ben overnight and will be bringing him home soon, so Castiel holds himself together until he closes the door behind Dean.

He stands at the door, frozen, long after he hears the deep rumble of the Impala pull away into the night. Juliet noses at his leg, softly whining. Any thoughts he had of going to the Granada, or of Will, are washed away. Instead, he pads back into the living room and flicks on the spot lights in the back yard. He curls up on the couch, Juliet beside him, and turns out the inside lights. He lays there, one hand draped across Juliet’s flank, watching the slow falling gently outside the window and ignoring the wet trails that slide down his face.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep intending things to get less angsty, but these boys still have some stuff they need to work through. It would feel rushed if I just glossed over the issues that still exist so that they can be together. 
> 
> As always, I'm just honored and amazed by the comments you've all left me. I love hearing from you.
> 
> I little shout-out to my SO, even though he'll never read this, for his assistance with the garage scene. I'm not nearly as knowledgeable about cars as he makes me sound.

Dean grips the broom handle tighter, pushing it across the garage floor until there isn’t even a dust cloud that follows. His hands feel clammy with sweat, so he absently rubs them on his jeans before shoving the broom across the floor again.

“You’re gonna sweep a hole right through the concrete, boy,” Bobby mutters from the doorway.

Dean jerks to a stop, pulling the broom in against his chest. “Thanks for letting us use the bay,” he says instead of a smart-ass comeback. No point taking his weird mood out on Bobby.

The older man shrugs and tosses Dean two pairs of dark gray coveralls before turning back into the shop. Dean had been resistant when Bobby first insisted on them as the uniform at the shop, but not constantly having grease ruining his clothes had quickly won him over. He drops down onto the rolling stool at the workbench to pull off his boots and tugs the jumpsuit up over his clothes.

He’s pulling the zipper up over his Alice Cooper t-shirt when he hears a horn outside the garage. Heartrate speeding up slightly, he walks across the bay and hits the button on the panel next the door, causing it to slide smoothly upwards. Just outside the door, Cas is rolling slowly toward the garage in his Camaro, tires crunching in the snow. Although Dean has seen pictures, this is his first close-up view of the car. Cas wasn’t kidding when he said that it isn’t in the best of shape.

The car comes to a smooth stop in the middle of the bay and Cas kills the engine before climbing out. He has changed out of his school clothes into jeans and a soft brown long sleeved t-shirt. His ridiculous tan trench coat falls to his knees when he stands up. He closes the door behind him and turns to Dean as the garage door slides back into place. “Hello, Dean,” he says softly, eyes searching Dean’s face, but Dean isn’t sure what he’s looking for.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean responds, crossing the large room. This is the first time they’ve seen each other since the night at Cas’ house and although they have been texting more frequently, things are still strained between them. Dean forces an amused grin and turns to the car. “Man, you weren’t messin’ around when you said she needed some work.”

“I’m afraid not. Although I keep it in the garage now, it spent several harsh winters outside in Chicago. It was in much better shape when I bought it in 1998.”

Dean whistles softly. “I can imagine. How many miles?” He walks around the car, ticking off the major ailments that will need to be addressed.

“Eighty-seven thousand, but I only put on the last twenty-five thousand or so. I don’t drive it much, but it has,” he pauses, searching for the right word, “sentimental value.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, I hear ya. So what kinda budget we talkin’? I mean, I can do some basic repairs and keep her together for a while longer, or if you wanna sink some money into her, we can do a complete restoration.”

Cas rests his hand on the hood of the car. “Within reason, money isn’t really an issue. If you have the time, I’d like to see it last another thirty years.”

Dean shakes his head with a smile. “She.”

“Excuse me?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean steps closer and enunciates slowly. “She. She’s a lady, Cas. You gotta treat her like one.”

“Cars do not have a gender, Dean,” Cas responds seriously.

“Seriously, dude? Everyone knows that cars are female.” Before Cas can respond, Dean turns and grabs the second set of coveralls off the workbench and throws them to Cas. “Put that on over your clothes. We’re just gonna be doin’ inventory tonight, but it’s gonna suck if you brush against somethin’ and get covered in grease.”

Cas looks at the jumpsuit curiously then shrugs. He takes his jacket off and hands it to Dean before he toes off his shoes one at a time. Dean is impressed by his ability to alternate balancing on one foot as he pulls the stiff fabric up over his hips and settles it over his shoulders. He tugs the zipper up and turns to Dean with his arms outstretched for approval.

Dean swallows to wet his suddenly dry mouth. Damn, Cas looks good in that jumpsuit. _Friends,_ Dean tells himself, _just friends_. It’s impossible to ignore how attractive he finds Cas, but he’s determined not to scare the other man away by stepping over the new boundaries in their relationship. He clears his throat and walks over to hang the jacket up in the locker while he composes himself.

Dean sets Cas up on the stool with a clipboard while he goes over the car in detail. He calls out the problems while Cas takes notes, starting at the front of the car. Between the fist-sized hole in the front bumper, rust under the doors and fender wells, and the crack in the roof near the T-top, there’s already a significant amount of work to do and they haven’t even opened the hood. Sliding out from under the car on a roll-away, Dean thanks the car gods that there’s minimal rust in the floor pan. There’s plenty that can be upgraded, though, so it will make dropping the running gear worthwhile. He dusts his hands off on his coveralls as he pulls himself up.

“Are you sure about this, Dean?” Cas agonizes, looking over the list. “This seems like a significant amount of work.”

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s gonna take a while since I’ll only be able to work on it in my spare time, but as long as you don’t mind buyin’ the parts and bein’ without a car, it’s gonna be fun.”

“Fun?” Cas questions with a squint. “You and I have very different ideas of fun.”

Dean chuckles and reaches in through the open window to pop the hood. “Hand me that work light,” he says, indicating the cylindrical cordless light on the work bench.

As Cas reaches across the bench to pick up the light his sleeve catches on the vice, pulling it halfway up his forearm. He quickly grabs the edge and tugs it down, but not before Dean catches a glimpse of the rubber band he has around his wrist and the lotus flower tattooed there.

“I’ve already seen 'em, you know. You don’t have to hide 'em,” he says softly, catching Cas’ eye when he hands over the light.

“Force of habit,” Cas responds, pulling both sleeves up to his elbows. He holds his wrists out for Dean to study.

The edges of the tattoos are thick black lines with no shading. On his right wrist is the lotus flower, but Dean only recognizes the symbol on his left as Egyptian. He reaches out to run his finger over it, but Cas pulls his arm back before he can touch. Dean swallows tightly and waves his hand to indicate Cas’ wrist to cover the awkwardness. “Egyptian, right?” he says, forcing his voice even.

“Yes,” Cas responds, making a show of pulling the sleeves back down. “The Eye of Ra. It’s a protection symbol. They were the last ones I had done.”

Dean raises his eyes from where Cas’ hands are still fiddling with the sleeve. “Last ones? How many do you have? I saw there’s some kind of stylized feathers on your arms.”

Cas shifts awkwardly and Dean is about to tell him he doesn’t have to answer when he says, “Four others. One on my abdomen, one on each side of my ribs and the wings cover my whole back and spread down my arms.”

Dean whistles in appreciation.

“I was a rebellious youth,” Cas shares with a small smile. “My eyebrow and tongue were pierced at one time too, but I let the holes grow shut.” Cas rubs his fingers over his eyebrow and Dean can see the slight divots now that Cas has pointed them out.

“Huh,” Dean grunts, ignoring the inappropriate thoughts that come with the image of Cas with his tongue pierced, “I never woulda guessed. You don’t seem like the type.”

Cas’ smile seems sad now. “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other. I was very involved in the club scene when I was an undergraduate.”

Dean desperately wants to ask to see Cas’ other tattoos, but even he isn’t so dense that he doesn’t realize it would be awkward right now. Maybe once they’ve gotten comfortable around each other again, once they’ve settled into their friendship without Christmas looming over their heads. He files the information away. “Well, I’m glad you’re givin’ me the chance to get to know you,” Dean says instead. It’s sappy as hell, but it’s the truth, so he ignores the way it makes his insides squirm.

He turns away and lifts the hood of the car to cover his embarrassment. Cas steps up alongside him as he pokes his way around the engine compartment, pointing out things that could be upgraded. Although the body is in bad condition, Cas has kept up with the basic maintenance like replacing belts and plug wires, so it’s just a matter of finding the things they can approve upon.

Dean walks over to grab a wrench from the toolbox along the wall so that he can check the spark plugs. When he approaches the car again, he puts his hands lightly on Cas’ hips to shift him out of the way. Touching Cas has become so natural to him that he doesn’t even think about it until the other man tenses under his hands and jerks away, banging his knee on the front nose of the car.

“Shit,” Dean curses, yanking his hands back and stepping out of Cas’ personal space. “Sorry, man. I just, no, just sorry.”  His first reaction it to make an excuse, to brush it off, but he feels like shit for startling Cas so he just lets it alone.

Cas rubs his knee through the coveralls with a grimace. “It’s okay, Dean.”

Dean waits until the other man straightens and catches Cas’ eye. “No. It isn’t. I just, I guess I’ve gotten used to touching you. I’m an asshole."

“You’re not,” Cas insists carefully. “I just have a hard time with people touching me.”

Dean narrows his eyes.  “You never did before. I mean, you never flinched or yanked away or whatever when I touched you before.”

Cas’ eyes dance away from Dean’s, settling back on the engine of the car before he responds. “I’m usually uncomfortable when people touch me. Occasionally, I meet people that don’t evoke that discomfort for whatever reason. I don’t always know why.”

Dean thinks about that, turning it around. “Oh,” he breathes, the magnitude of what Cas is saying striking home. “So, me touching you before, before Christmas, that was a big deal.”

Cas finally turns to meet his eyes again, the depth of emotion in them taking Dean’s breath away. “Yes.”

The word hangs in the air between them. Dean is struck again by how royally he has fucked everything up. The chances of Cas ever becoming comfortable with him again, no matter how hard he tries, seem astronomical. He really is good at breaking things.

“Dean,” Cas says softly, pulling his attention back. Once Dean focuses on Cas’ face again, Cas sighs. There seems to be a world of words behind his lips, but he just gestures toward the car. “Do you think we’ll need to replace the spark plugs? I just replaced them two years ago.”

Dean recognizes the out that Cas is giving him, a way to deflect the situation back onto solid ground. He grasps at it like a lifeline. “Ah, just let me get a couple out and we’ll see how they are.”

They finish up under the hood with Dean listing all of the improvements they can make, both aesthetically and to improve performance. Dean is careful to maintain an appropriate distance between them so that he never even comes close to brushing against Cas’ arm as he points out various parts of the engine. Cas seems to have relaxed, leaning further and further into the engine compartment, but Dean can’t forget the alarmed look in his eyes when he jerked away from Dean’s touch. It’s not exactly an expression he wants to see again. Dean returns the tools to the chest of drawers while Cas closes the hood.

“You really enjoy this, don’t you?”

Dean grins. “Yeah, man. This stuff is the best. I mean, I don’t mind the repair stuff we do here, but this, takin’ something old and bringin’ it back to life, makin’ it better? That’s what I would do all day. I tell Sam all the time, if I ever win the power ball a down-payment on Winchester Restorations is gonna be the first thing I do. I’d be the next Chip Foose.”

“I don’t know who that is, but I think you’d be very good at it,” Cas responds earnestly.

“Dude, you haven’t even seen my work yet.”

“No,” Cas agrees, “but you have so much passion when you talk about it, and I’ve seen the Impala, so I can’t imagine you not doing an excellent job.”

Dean’s cheeks heat up at the compliment, so he ducks his head to hide the blush. He grabs a stool from the other end of the shop and pulls it up to the workbench, careful to keep a significant distance between them. He’s spent months not even noticing whether they’re touching or not and now it’s all he can think about.

Cas spreads the papers from the clipboard out on the bench in front of them. They work through the lists methodically; with Dean offering suggestions for whether the work is essential or just something he’d recommend. He also gives an estimated price for each item. When Cas adds everything up, the total comes to just under five thousand dollars.

“That’s with the repairs to the body and top of the line upgrades,” Dean points out. “There’s certain stuff that will be easier to do while we’re doin’ the bodywork, like the exhaust since we gotta drop it do the floor pan anyway, but a lot of it can be done slowly over time. If you wanna add another grand, we could repaint her too.”

“I can afford to do all of the work we decide on now,” Cas assures him, but he taps the paper a few times before turning to Dean. “These numbers don’t include anything for your labor, Dean,” he points out.

Dean shrugs. “This is a friend helpin’ out a friend. You don’t gotta pay me for the work, man. Bring me a six pack from the microbrewery and a pizza every now and then and we’ll call it even. After all, I owe you for everything you’ve done for Ben.”

Cas shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything for helping Ben. Not only is it my job, but Ben is a wonderful little boy. Anything I do to help him, or you, is a pleasure.”

Just then, Dean’s phone lights up with a text message where it is lying on the bench between them. Dean was using it to look up prices for parts. Cas doesn’t comment when Dean grabs the phone, but Dean can tell he saw that the message is from Ash. He thinks about shoving the phone in his pocket and pretending it didn’t happen, but that isn’t exactly what they agreed on. Instead, he unlocks the screen and holds the phone out so that Cas can see the text.

**[Ash] 7:13PM: Jo’s shit is in at ss. You still gonna pick it up?**

“You don’t have to show me your private messages,” Cas says slowly, although he reads the text before pushing the phone back. Dean takes a moment to respond in the affirmative before putting it in the pocket of his overalls

“Not private,” he contends. “He ordered some albums for Jo’s birthday from SuperSonic, a music store down by the college. Since one of the guys who works there is a friend of ours, I’m gonna swing by and pick them up for her.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

Dean shakes his head. “Don’t have to, but I want to. I meant it when I said this is important to me, Cas. I need you to know where we stand.”

“Okay,” Cas responds, looking up to meet Dean’s eyes. “I appreciate that.”

Cas seems to consider the topic closed, but Dean isn’t done. He wants Cas to understand. “Even if me and Ash are over, I can’t cut him completely out of my life. I need to you to get that. He’s family. I work for his step-father and his mom is the closest thing I’ve had to a mother since I was four. No matter what, I’m still gonna see him on holidays and stuff. He’s still gonna be part of my life.”

Cas closes his eyes and sighs deeply before opening them.  “I understand, Dean. I can accept those lines, as long as you can tell me that there will never be a romantic or physical relationship between you again. I’ve been with people who were friendly with their exes before.”

Dean nods, sagging forward as the tension he was holding drains away. “Okay, yeah.”

The uneasy strain is back with a vengeance as they clean up. They pull off their coveralls and Cas shrugs back into his coat before they turn off the lights and head to the front of the shop. They’d already agreed that Dean would drive Cas home, even though the shop is only a mile from his house and the bitter cold has let up. Cas may be used to walking home in the dark, but Dean isn’t having it.

The quick ride in the Impala is quiet, broken only by the discussion of how Cas will get back and forth to school in inclement weather without his car. Dean does his best not to scowl when he says that Meg will pick him up. He’s still pretty sure he’ll never get along with the dark haired woman.

Dean pulls the car up Cas’ driveway and puts it in park before clearing his throat. “We’re celebratin’ me and Jo’s birthdays at the Roadhouse Saturday night if you wanna come over,” he forces out before he can lose his nerve.

Cas looks away awkwardly before he answers. “I have plans on Saturday.”

Dean knows he shouldn’t ask, that it really isn’t any of his business, but he can’t help himself. “A date?”

Cas spins to face him, his eyes wide and searching. After a few moments of silence, he finally answers. “Yes. I, Dean—” but Dean holds up a hand before he can continue.

“It’s cool, man. You don’t owe me any explanations. I don’t expect you to wait around while I figure out how to pull my head outta my ass.”

Cas’ jaw works, but he just nods. “I’ll, ah, I’ll talk to you later, Dean,” he says as he climbs out of the car.

“Sure thing, man. When I get some free time, I’ll get started on the body work. Not a whole lotta decisions until we get that stuff done. I let you know how it’s goin’.”

Cas nods. “Thank you, Dean. Have a good night,” he says, closing the door on Dean’s response.

Dean waits until Cas has closed the front door behind him before he puts the car in reverse and backs out of the driveway. He’s got twenty minutes until his dad drops Ben off at the house, enough for a quick spin out through the barren corn fields surrounding Lawrence. He turns up the radio so that he doesn’t have to think while he drives.

* * *

* * *

Castiel has never really considered himself to be vain, which is why it makes no sense when he pulls down the visor to check his appearance in the mirror a second time. Meg had willingly handed over the keys to her SUV when Castiel explained that he was going to see Will at the Granada. “Good,” she’d said. “Get out there and tell Winchester to go fuck himself.” Castiel had just rolled his eyes and refused to comment. Meg isn’t thrilled that he and Dean are talking again, but at least she’s kept her involvement to pointed comments.

He has parked in the lot behind the Granada dozens of times, but he can’t remember ever being nervous about it before. Even the first time, when he’d been a stranger, hadn’t triggered this fluttering eagerness in his chest. It is weird how a friend of a friend of a friend had resulted in Will getting Castiel’s number, but he’d been both shocked and pleased to receive the text inviting him to tonight’s show.

Despite what he told Dean, Will hadn’t specifically called it a date. When he’d commented to Meg that it could just be a casual friendly invitation to see a band in a genre Castiel enjoyed, she’d rolled her eyes and slapped him on the back of the head. Castiel had wisely kept his ponderings to himself after that.

It’s a short walk to the door, so Castiel opts to leave his jacket in the car. Despite his protests, he’d let Meg dress him in the jeans she swore showed off his rear-end and a button down that, according to her, brought out his eyes. He hadn’t even stopped her when she tousled his hair. When he commented that it made him look like he just crawled out of bed, she’d laughed and said, “That’s the point, sweetheart. It’s sex walking.”

It’s still early. The band doesn’t go on for another thirty minutes, so Castiel sits at the bar. Although there are only a few people now, he knows that the club will be packed by ten o’clock. He’s studying the other patrons when Violet puts a bottle down in front of him.

“He’s in the back with the band,” she says, giving him a knowing wink. Castiel had assumed it was Violet that had given Will his number and it looked like he was right.

In the years that he had been coming here, he and Violet have struck up a kind of friendship, so he only feels a little awkward when he responds, “Does he do this a lot?”

Violet laughs; a low smoky sound. “Invite good looking men to the shows? Nah, not really.  He’s not a saint, but he pretty much keeps to himself when he’s working. Guess he saw something special in you.”

Castiel digests the information. “He asked you for my number?”

“I offered it. Saw you gettin’ friendly that night and knew he was too chicken shit to have asked for it himself, so I did you both a favor. Was I wrong?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “You weren’t wrong. I’m just a little out of practice. It’s been a while.”  He leaves it there. He and Malachi had been in the club together often enough that Violet knows how it ended, but it isn’t something they talk about.

She nods knowingly. “Well, between you, me, and the wall, he doesn’t really put himself out there. He had a bad break-up a couple months ago, so he’s pretty skittish. Take it easy on him.”

Castiel laughs ruefully. He’s certainly not the one who is usually told to tread lightly, but he thinks about Dean and their weird back-and-forth pull and wonders if Violet isn’t right to caution him. On one hand, despite all his adamant caveats, Castiel hasn’t completely given up hope that Dean will get past his entanglement with Ash and be free to pursue a relationship. On the other hand, Castiel doesn’t really owe him anything. Dean isn’t ready to say that he’s completely done with Ash, and Castiel isn’t sure he ever will, so it makes no sense to wait for him. He doesn’t want to give up a chance with the only other guy he’s been interested in for something that might not happen.

He takes a sip of his tea and sighs. “I think that makes two of us.”

Violet slips away to serve other customers waiting for drinks, leaving Castiel to his own thoughts. There is movement up on the stage and he watches as the band runs through a few snatches of songs while testing the set-up. Somewhere in the back of the club, he’s sure Will is listening and making minute adjustments to the soundboard. After a few more minutes, the door beside the stage opens and Will walks out.

He’s dressed much the same as he was the last time Castiel saw him, with black jeans and heavy boots, but tonight his t-shirt advertises the Sex Pistols instead of the local band on the stage. His shaggy dark hair trails messily over his forehead and he repeatedly brushes it out of his eyes as he listens to the band, head cocked in concentration. After a few minutes, he nods just slightly and walks over to the stage. The lead singer crouches down and they talk in low voices that don’t carry. The singer says something that makes Will let out a loud bark of laughter and he claps his hand down on the other man’s shoulder. Eyes still crinkled with mirth, he pulls away and disappears through the door backstage.

Castiel lets himself enjoy the smooth wave of anticipation that curls in his gut. Given their surroundings, Will should remind him of Michael, but he doesn’t. Will seems calm and controlled in contrast to the swagger and easy grace that came naturally to Michael. Castiel had been lost and alone, a freshman adrift in the campus club scene away from his father’s oppression for the first time when Michael found him and took him under his wing. That Castiel has little in common with the man he is today and Will is definitely more the type of man he is interested in. Where the younger version of himself had been swept away by Michael’s vibrant personality, his current persona craves stability and comfort.

The milling crowd swells until there are dozens of people packed into the little club and the audience cheers when the band finally takes the stage. The band is a nice mix of originals and covers, leaning more heavily toward new punk than alternative/grunge, but the lead singer has a unique voice and enough energy to keep Castiel engaged. He stands at the edge of the crowd, sipping his drink, but he lets the music wash over him and reverberate in his chest. That is one of the things he enjoys the most about live performances, the way the music becomes a wave the moves through his entire body. The physicality of the experience extends far beyond just the auditory.

He’s so caught up in the show that he doesn’t register Will standing beside him until the man slides his arm around Castiel’s waist and pulls him against his side. His first instinct is to tense against the intrusion, but once he confirms that it is, in fact, Will, he forces himself to relax into the embrace. Will leans over until his lips are just a breath away from Castiel’s ear and yells, “The lead guitar is a little tinny.”

Castiel shrugs and gives him a smile. “It sounds fine to me,” he shouts back. “It’s punk, tinny fits.”

Will laughs and pulls Castiel around so that they’re facing each other. Moving to the music comes naturally, so Castiel winds one arm around Will’s neck and lets himself get lost in the sound and the feel of Will’s hands on his hips. They move together, not grinding, but just shifting to the pulsing beat. There is nothing inherently sexual about the way they’re dancing, but Castiel feels his body respond anyway. The twist of arousal isn’t completely unexpected, but Castiel is relieved to feel it anyway. Although he had found Jacob physically attractive, he wasn’t aroused by him, even when the other man had kissed him. If just Will’s hands on his hips and a pounding rhythm have this effect on him, it is a very good sign.

In a repeat of the night they met, Will spends the rest of the evening moving between backstage and the dance floor. During the intermission between the two sets, he takes a few moments to confer with the band before wrapping his fingers around Castiel’s hand and leading him to the bar.

“What do you think?” he asks seriously, accepting a glass of water from Violet.

“About the band?”

His chuckle is low and throaty, making the curl of excitement in Castiel’s stomach quicken. “Sure, the sound, the band, whatever.”

Violet sets another bottle of tea down in front of Castiel and he takes a long drink before he answers. “I like them. I tend to listen to more indie grunge than punk, but they have a good sound. Whatever you did during the last song that brought out the growl of the bass really pulled it together.”

“You’re a musician?”

Castiel laughs at the absurdity. “No, not at all. An old boyfriend tried to teach me to play guitar, years ago, but I never caught on. Just a fan.”

Will quirks his lips. “So he was the musician.”

“He was,” he acknowledges. “Lead singer, guitar, a little piano, but that was a lifetime ago.” He inclines his head toward Will’s hand where it rests on his thigh. “You play guitar?”

Will taps his calloused fingers together. “Yeah, my band plays here sometimes. The Blue Leaves. You’d probably like us, more indie folk than alt, but the original stuff we’ve been writing lately has a harder edge.”

“You’ll have to let me know when you’re playing,” Castiel responds, meeting his eyes encouragingly.

Will grins. “Yeah. Definitely.”

They make small talk through the rest of the break, sharing the little bits of information about themselves that are common when two people are just getting to know each other. When Castiel explains what he does for a living, Will says that he has a cousin with Autism so he knows a little about it. Castiel is a surprised when Will admits that his second job is repairing copy machines for a local service company.

“Much as I’d like the music scene to pay the bills, it just doesn’t. They only need sound here a couple times a week and with only six or seven gigs a month, the band isn’t making enough to pay for anything but rehearsal space, keeping up our instruments, and hauling us to the venues.”

Castiel thinks of his paintings. Outside of the handful he’s gifted to family and friends, the majority have never been seen by another person. “It would be nice if passionate art was as lucrative as repetitive work.”

Will rests his hand on Castiel’s arm, his fingers playing with his sleeve. “That’s the truth. Listen, I gotta get back there soon to get set up for the second set, but it would be great if you’d stick around.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be."

“Great. Cool. I gotta stay through closing, but there’s an all-night diner a couple blocks from here where we could grab a cup of coffee after.”

Castiel bites the inside of his lip to stop himself from smiling stupidly. “I’d like that.”

Will stands up and starts to back away. “Awesome, okay then. I gotta get back, but you can come hang out up by the stage if you want. Once you get behind the line of the amps, the music is a little muted so we wouldn’t have to scream at other.” He stops and darts forward suddenly. For a moment, Castiel is sure Will is going to kiss him, but the other man just leans in and brushes his lips lightly over his cheek. “I’m glad you came tonight,” he breathes softly, then he’s gone before Castiel can respond.

“Whew!” Violet chortles behind him. “You sure made an impression on him. Don’t think I’ve ever seen him move that fast.”

“A kiss on the cheek is fast?” Castiel questions in disbelief.

“Honey, you have no idea.”

The second set goes by even faster than the first, especially now that Castiel is stationed near the stage with Will. They don’t dance as much, but Will becomes increasingly physical as the night goes on. Sliding his hand along Castiel’s back, tipping his head over to rest on Castiel’s shoulder, or even tugging him back against the front of his body the way he had the night they met. Each time he feels Will’s hands on him, the urge to recoil is less and less, until he’s willingly seeking out the pressure even if he can’t bring himself to initiate. If Will finds it strange, he doesn’t act like it bothers him.

Although he’s pretty sure it’s against the rules, Violet lets him linger at the bar at closing time until Will finishes wrapping up with the band. Will takes his hand as they leave the club and Castiel focuses on the gentle pressure of Will’s fingers intertwined with his as they walk down the street. It’s a good feeling.

The diner is that simple staple that exists in almost identical appearance in every city and town in the country. Will doesn’t let go of his hand until they slide into opposite sides of a red-topped booth, the aged vinyl of the seats crackling. After waving away the mention of food, Will orders them both a cup of coffee from a woman who knows him by name. Although Castiel doesn’t normally drink coffee, he’s too enamored by Will’s good humor to contradict him.

“Did I mention how glad I am that you decided to come out tonight?” Will asks, dumping creamer and sugar into his mug. “And that sounds lame; like I’m too eager. Does it sound too eager?”

Castiel laughs good-naturedly. “A little eager, but that’s okay because I’m really glad you invited me.”

“Good, that’s good. Vi just about threatened to deck me if I didn’t text you,” he says, then blanches. “Not that I needed threatened, I mean, I wanted to, I was just worried you would think I was a stalker and—”

Castiel cuts him off with a chuckle. “I understand. The woman I was with last time? That’s Meg. She’s a lot like Violet, I would imagine. She regularly has to threaten me in order to convince me to get out of my own way.”

Will relaxes against the booth. “Good. Man, you’d think I’ve been out of the game for a decade instead of four months. I’m normally not this big of a dork.”

“Well, it’s been over two years for me and I’m afraid I am normally this big of a dork,” Castiel returns with a grin.

The conversation slips easily from music to where they each went to college and back around the club scene in Lawrence before Castiel realizes that they each have had three refills and it’s pushing three o’clock in the morning. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand as he yawns. “Trust me, it has nothing to do with the present company. I just don’t often see this hour of the day.”

“No worries,” Will replies. He chews his bottom lip for a moment; as if he’s working up the nerve to say something.

Castiel is pretty sure he knows where this is going, so he cuts Will off before he can continue. “I don’t do one-night stands or hook-ups or whatever,” he says gently. He waits with bated breath for rejection.

Will’s eyes widen and he stammers awkwardly for a moment, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. “I, ah, that’s not, listen. Damn, you’re right to the point aren’t you?”

“I usually find that it works out for the best.”

“Okay, yeah, look. I won’t lie, you’re smoking hot, so yeah, definitely interested, but if I take you home I’m going to want to keep you for a whole lot more than one night. I was actually going to ask if you wanted to get dinner sometime.”

It’s Castiel’s turn to blush. “Yes, I, well, I’d like that a lot.”

Will insists on paying for Castiel’s coffee and even though it’s less than two dollars, it feels significant. They walk hand in hand back to the lot where he left Meg’s SUV. Castiel pulls open the door and slides into the driver’s seat with a shiver. Will waits while he starts the car, turning the heat up full blast to warm the interior.

When Will leans in, one hand braced on the open door and other cupping Castiel’s face, Castiel’s eyelids flutter closed in anticipation. They snap open when Will just brushes his lips against Castiel’s cheek again.

He pulls back just slightly, brown eyes meeting Castiel’s from just inches away. “I’ve always thought something worth having is something worth waiting for,” he says softly before he steps away and closes the door.

He’s still standing in the parking lot, watching the taillights, when Castiel looks in the rear view mirror as he pulls away.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but I'm just blown away by all of your comments. It's so awesome for me to see how so many different people have connected with this story but everyone is getting something different out of it. 
> 
> There is a little scene in this week's chapter that is dedicated to Sam_winchester_wears_makeup and SassySides. You'll hopefully know it when you see it, ladies.
> 
> Enjoy!

The incense burns his eyes a little, making him wheeze. Dean had forgotten what Supersonic is like, half music store and half hippie commune. Despite the hours he has spent hanging out here, Dean has never actually met the owner, a man they just call Cain. Ava, one of the chicks who watch the store when Garth is off, says he’s a pretentious dick but Garth just says he’s eccentric. Either way, Dean is never sure whether to be upset or impressed that he lets them fill the store with Nag Champa. Any of the records or instruments bought there hold onto the smell for weeks.

Ben tugs his hand out of Dean’s grasp and clamps it over his nose. “What is that smell, daddy?”

“It’s incense, bud. Kind of like the smelly goods that grandma Ellen uses, but with smoke instead.”

Ben screws up his face and slaps his other hand over the one holding his nose for good measure. “I don’t like it.”

Dean sighs. He should have remembered the incense and asked Ava and Garth to tone it down before they arrived. He’s sure they wouldn’t have minded but now it’s too late. “We’ll just be here a couple minutes, kiddo, then we’re goin’ to the Roadhouse for the party, remember? Gotta pick up a present for Jo.”

“A present from Ash?” Ben asks. Dean has no idea how the kid knows that. They wrapped their present, a Bluetooth speaker for her phone, the night before so he knows the albums aren’t from them.

Dean just nods without commenting on his son’s freaky way of hearing everything. “Yeah, from Ash.”

It’s a late Saturday afternoon near campus, so the store is packed. Unlike the fancy chain stores, Supersonic is a mishmash of recorded music, memorabilia, and instruments. You’re likely to find an original Cyndi Lauper album from the '80s next to the guitar strings beside a pair of Zildjian cymbals. There’s really no recognizable organization that Dean has ever noticed, but that doesn’t mean Garth doesn’t know exactly where every item in the store is.

“Hey, boys, good to see you. I got the albums packed up. Let me just run in the back and get them,” Garth announces with his usual perky rush of words before he disappears behind the curtain.

Dean leans against the counter, one of Ben’s hands wrapped tightly around his while the other still clutches his nose. “How’s things been?”

Ava shrugs, her nose ring glinting in the overhead lights. “Business as usual. Heard you got a Martin for Christmas.”

Dean smiles. As torn as his feelings about the gift are, he can’t help but love that guitar. “Yeah, it’s pretty sweet.”

Ben starts to tug on his hand and when Dean doesn’t immediately look down, the tugging becomes more frantic. Glancing down, Dean sees that Ben’s eyes are filled with tears, making his stomach drop. He scoops Ben up in his arms. “What wrong, bud?”

“I don’t like it, daddy. Don’t like the smoke and it’s too loud,” he says, tears starting to overflow. “I want to go, daddy. I want to go see grandma Ellen.” His words increase in volume as he continues and he’s tapping his fingers together repetitively, the way he does when he’s upset or really focused. Dean can tell they’re just moments away from a full blown meltdown.

In addition to the incense, loud modern rock blares through the shop speakers and a kid is jamming on an electric guitar in the corner. Between that and the general clamor of voices with this many people shoved into such a small space, the noise in the shop is a little overwhelming. While Dean had tuned it out when he focused on Ava, he knows that Ben can’t. Shit, what did Cas call it? Sensory overload? Yeah, too much input and everything goes haywire.

Ben starts to make a low keening noise in his throat, so Dean holds him tighter against his chest. He cups Ben’s head with his other hand, trying to block out the sound while Ava glances through the curtain and makes a hurry up motion at Garth. Dean knows his breath is coming more rapidly and he can feel his heart racing so he takes a deep breath to calm himself down. The last thing Ben needs is for Dean to lose it too.

“If the kid is some kind of freak that can’t handle being out in public, he should just leave him at home.”  The words are spoken so softly from somewhere behind him that Dean is pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear them, but he tenses anyway. He counts to ten in his head, continuing to rock Ben against his chest while ignoring the laughter that starts up behind him.

There’s another voice, this one a little louder, as if he doesn’t care if Dean hears him or not. “Kid must be some kind of retard or something. Look at him.”

There’s more laughter, but Dean can barely hear it over the rushing of blood in his ears. He sees Ava’s eyes go wide so he knows she heard it too. His hand clenches reflexively on Ben’s head. Everything in Dean tells him that it’s a bad idea, that he should just ignore them, but he can’t. Who the fuck do they think they are?

Dean spins around and sees the group of KU students standing at the CD rack directly behind him. Punk ass kids. He pins the closest one with a glare. “Do you have a problem?” he growls, shifting his body so that Ben is angled away from them.

Dean isn’t a big guy, but the student in front of him is a few inches shorter. He pales when Dean starts to take a step closer as if Dean would hit him while cradling a child in his arms. Unfortunately, the owner of the second voice is built a little more substantially and filled with more bravado than his friend. “Kid like that’s got no business bein’ in here,” he says with a sneer.

“I’ve been coming here since before you were even born, asshole. My kid’s got more right bein’ in here than you ever will.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t subject the rest of us to his fits. If he can’t act like a person, leave him in the car with the dog,” the kid declares, bumping his buddy on the back of the arm with a grin. At least his friend has the decency to look uncomfortable.

The rage that washes over Dean makes his vision go red. He pulls back his arm and is just about to throw a punch, Ben curled against his chest or not, when a hand on his bicep stops him. He lets out a frustrated growl and tries to yank free, but Garth is stronger than he looks. “I got this, Dean. Why don’t you and Ava take Ben back in the break room?” he says with a smile, but his tone and the way his grip tightens on Dean’s arm imply that it isn’t a suggestion.

Dean wants to argue and knock the kid on his ass, but maybe turning thirty-five tomorrow has finally given him the good sense of an adult because he just nods and pulls his arm away. He follows Ava behind the counter and through the curtain, but not before he hears Garth say to the two college students, “I think you boys need to find yourself a new music store.”

Ava pulls a bottle of water from the refrigerator and hands it to Dean. It’s quieter and a little darker in the room and the fresh air has only the slightest smell from the incense clinging to their clothes. Ben relaxes immediately though he’s still tapping his fingers and squeezing his face. He can hear the rumble of raised voices on the other side of the curtain, finally punctuated by the front door slamming. After a few moments, Garth pops his head through the curtain and sends Ava back out front.

“Sorry about that, man,” Dean says, rubbing Ben’s head over and over. His eyes burn with sudden exhaustion as the anger drains out of him, leaving a headache.

Garth shrugs. “Nothing to apologize about. I told them they aren’t welcome in Supersonic anymore.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did.” He says it softly as if standing up for him and Ben is a given. Though he and Garth have been friends for most of his life, Dean is still humbled to realize that it is. “Anyway,” he continues, offering a change of subject. “You’ve got a party to get to. I’m not done until six, but me and Betsy will be there before you cut the cake.”

Packing up the albums and getting Ben out to the car is somewhat anticlimactic after that. Dean isn’t surprised that Ben falls asleep in his booster seat on the drive back up to the Roadhouse, considering that he would love to lay down and close his eyes for a while himself. With his whole family and most of his friends waiting for him, though, he has no choice but to park in front of the bar and lift Ben out.

Thankfully, it’s not hard to lose himself in the bustle and chaos and by the time Garth arrives with his pretty fiancé, Ben has unwound and is bouncing around the room as if the incident at the music store never happened. Dean has a harder time putting it away, but he must manage to fake it well enough because no one comments.

After dinner, cake, and gift opening, Ellen captures everyone else’s attention with a story about Jo’s first school dance. Despite Jo’s initial complaints, the two of them soon have everyone in stitches, so Dean is pretty sure no one sees him wander away to take a breather.

There’s a rustle of movement behind him just before Jess drops into a chair pulled up beside the booth where Dean is sitting nursing a beer. She motions at the pile of gifts on the far end of the bar; a couple CDs, a new Carhartt jacket and a fancy single-cup coffee maker. “Pretty good haul,” she says, propping her feet up on the bench across from him.

“Yeah, not bad. Not sure if I can bring myself to drink those silly flavored coffees, though.”

Jess smirks. “They make regular coffee, too, but I’ll be sure to pick you up a variety pack with Cinnamon Bun and Glazed Donut.”

“Throw in Apple Pie and you’ve got yourself a deal,” he quips back.

She grins and they sit in silence for a few moments before she says, “So what happened today? Before you got here?”

“What makes you think something happened?”

She shrugs. “Ben’s eyes were red and you seemed on edge. You’ve been hovering over him all night like he’s a bomb you think is about to go off. You only do that when there’s already been a meltdown.”

Dean pulls himself up straight. “I’m just lookin’ out for—” he starts, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

“That wasn’t a judgment, Dean. Just an observation.” She tugs a small strip of cloth off her wrist and uses it to pull her long blond hair into a messy ponytail on top of her head, then narrows her eyes and adds, “You look tired.”

Dean lets out a huff of breath and allows himself to slump again. “Yeah, I guess I am. Ben didn’t like the music store and some douchebag kid started mouthin’ off about it. Garth hadn’t stepped in when he did, I probably woulda laid the kid out.”

“People can be assholes,” she responds with a roll of her eyes.

Man, Dean is glad that he ended up with Jess as his sister-in-law and not that Ruby chick Sam dated in high school. “You got that right. Good thing Garth was there, ‘cause I never woulda heard the end of it from Sam.”

Jess rolls her eyes even more dramatically. “Mr. Pacifist,” she jokes. “You know he won’t even kill spiders in the house? Wanted me to catch one in a cup and take it outside. He sulked the rest of the night after I smashed the fucker with my shoe.”

Dean lets out a bark of laughter. “Jesus, somethin’s not right with that kid.”

“He can be a little self-righteous at times,” she agrees, flicking a stray curl that didn’t make it into the ponytail out of her face.

“Guess it’s ‘cause he’s so smart, he’s used to bein’ right.”

“Maybe, but he’s not, you know?” At Dean’s blank look she adds, “Right all the time, I mean. He likes to think he is, but he can be kind of stubborn. I love him to death, but he’s not the ultimate authority on everything.”

“Maybe not, but he’s the smart one, so—” Dean isn’t expecting the smack on the back of the head that cuts him off. “What the hell, woman?”

“Cut it out,” she says with a glare. “If I hear you call him ‘the smart one’ one more time, I’m going to beat you senseless, and you know I could do it. He’s not the smart one because you’re not the dumb one.”

“Okay, okay. Not the smart one, but he is smarter—” This time he catches her wrist just before her hand connects with his head again.

She glares at him as she jerks her hand away. “Not smarter. Smart in different ways, maybe, but not smarter. Give yourself some credit, Dean. You could fix a car with your eyes closed, but I check the oil in our cars because Sam can’t figure out where the dipstick is. And don’t even get me started on Ben.”

“Sammy’s good with Ben,” Dean insists.

“Sure, but not as good as you. The whole time we had Ben for the weekend, Sam was checking in with me every two minutes to make sure I thought he was doing what you would do,” she relays. She pulls her feet back under her and leans in. “You’ve done a great job, Dean. Lisa would be really happy to see what you’re doing with him.”

Something in Dean’s chest warms at the thought of Lisa thinking he’s a good father to Ben, but he isn’t quite convinced. “Jess, I didn’t even know there was something wrong. He coulda been getting help all this time, but I missed all the signs.”

“We all did, Dean. And all the good you’ve done with him was without you knowing about the autism. Since you got the diagnosis, you’ve bent over backward to make sure he has everything he needs,” she counters.

That’s true. He’s read all the books and websites and pamphlets he could get his hands on and he gave up his Wednesday nights so he could go to the parent group at the school. He tries to learn everything he can because nothing is more important to him than Ben.

Thinking of parent night, though, makes him think of Cas, and Dean wonders if he’s having a good time on his date. Though he might not be ready to jump into anything, the thought of Cas with someone else causes a cold ball of jealousy in his stomach. He’s such a screw-up, it would serve him right if Cas moved on before he got his act together.

Dean isn’t even aware that he muttered the last part out loud until he feels the sting of Jess’ palm on the back of his head again. “You’re gonna give me brain damage,” he exclaims, shifting as far out of her reach as the booth will allow.

She gives him a withering look and ignores his accusation. “You’re not a screw-up. I don’t have the history with Ash that everyone else does, but it seems kind of messed up that you’re getting the flack for him being an asshole.”

“I coulda stopped him. At Christmas, I mean. It didn’t have to go down that way.”

She thins her lips and shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t seem to me that Ash is easily stopped. Either way, though, I don’t get why everyone is so up in arms about the whole thing. From what I’ve seen, Ash wasn’t that different than he is every other year. The guys a riot, but he can be a douche.”

It’s still Dean’s knee-jerk reaction to defend Ash, but she kind of has a point so he just shrugs. “I didn’t have to drag Cas into the middle of it, though.”

“True, I guess. Ash did seem to really have it out for the guy.”

“That’s probably my fault, too. Ash knew I was interested in Cas,” Dean admits.

Jess frowns. “Wait. So was Cas there as a date?”

“Nah, Cas is just a friend, or was just a friend, or, shit, I don’t know. I guess I wanted him to be there as more than a friend but I didn’t know he wanted that too.” He pauses then puts his hand over his eyes with a groan. “That sounds so fucking middle school when I say it out loud.”

Jess laughs and pulls his hand away, forcing him to turn and look at her. “So let me get this straight. You like Cas, Cas likes you, but you didn’t know Cas likes you because Cas has never said he likes you, and you never told Cas you like him, but you told Ash, and Ash used the information to cause chaos at Christmas. That sound right?”

Dean shrugs. “Sounds like you got it.”

Jess lets out a long sigh. “And I thought Ash was the immature one here.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Sounds to me like it wasn’t just you that screwed up, Winchester. The whole bunch of you need a smack in the head,” she pronounces.

Dean can’t help but agree with that. “Either way, I guess it’s good ‘cause it got me and Cas talkin’. We’re doin’ this open and honest thing and seein’ where it goes.”

“Wow. I knew this guy was good with Ben, but he really is a miracle worker if he got Dean Winchester using his words,” she teases. She just laughs when he flips her off. “So where is he tonight? You didn’t invite him?”

“I did. He has a date.”

Jess frowns. “A date? So you guys aren’t, like, romantically figuring things out?”

And that’s the million-dollar question. “Not really ready to go there yet. I gotta figure my shit out with Ash first.”

“Huh,” she says, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Good luck with that. I used to date a guy like Ash. Lots of mixed signals that kept me hanging around way longer than I should have. It caused all kinds of problems between me and Sam when we first started dating.”

“But you finally worked it out?”

Jess nods and turns to look at Sam where he’s leaning against the bar, her eyes going soft. “Yeah. We worked it out. Guess it took seeing what your big galoof of a brother had to offer for me to realize that what Brady was calling love never really was.”

Dean stands and pulls her up with him, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “Well, I think I won out in that deal. You’re stuck with me, but I lucked into the best sister-in-law ever.”

Jess slides her arms around his waist and squeezes back. “I got two Winchesters for the price of one. Sounds to me like I’m the lucky one.”

* * *

* * *

Castiel looks in the mirror and takes a moment to wish he had agreed to let Meg come over to pick out his clothes for his date with Will. No sooner does the thought cross his mind than he wonders if bumping his head on Meg’s car door yesterday gave him brain damage. It’s not like he hasn’t been on dates before. He’s a grown man, for crying out loud. He can pick out his own clothes.

He pulls off the tan slacks and puts the black ones back on before changing his shirt back to the dark green pullover he’s almost certain he’s had on three times already. He grimaces and runs his hand through his hair, trying to pat it into some semblance of order. Regardless of what Meg says, he’s not sure that ‘bedhead’ is a good look.

Although he’s not completely convinced that he likes his outfit, he refuses to allow himself to change again. He resolutely pushes the closet door closed behind him before going downstairs to wait. With his car still at Bobby’s and Meg using her SUV tonight, he had to agree to allow Will to pick him up.

Juliet is whining when he walks into the kitchen for a glass of water to calm his nerves, so he fills her dish before checking the clock again. Only two minutes later than it was the last time he looked, and still almost twenty minutes before Will is due to arrive.

He’s about to put his phone back into his pocket when it buzzes in his hand.

**[Dean] 5:41PM: Got the floor welded in. You pick a color yet?**

Despite his intention to not take up too much of Dean’s time with the Camaro, work has been progressing much faster than he expected. In just a week and a half, Dean has already fixed the majority of the rust on the body and is preparing it for new paint. Castiel would have been fine with just repainting it the original bright blue, but Dean insisted that he could make it any color Castiel wanted. Although it seems silly, Castiel has been leaning toward the bright yellow and black striped paint scheme he saw on the internet.

_[You] 5:43PM: I think so. I’ll send you a picture I found._

He attaches the photograph to a text and sends it. It only takes a moment before he gets a response.

**[Dean] 5:44PM: Sweet. It’s Bumblebee.**

_[You] 5:44PM: It does resemble a bumblebee_

**[Dean] 5:45PM: No, it IS Bumblebee. The car from Transformers.**

_[You] 5:46PM: Yes, I see. That does make sense. I’ve never seen that movie._

**[Dean] 5:46PM: Dude. That’s awful. We should watch it.**

Castiel waits for a moment before he responds. He hopes that Dean doesn’t ask to get together tonight. Although he’s not hiding his relationship with Will from Dean, he has noticed that it seems to end the conversation quite abruptly whenever he mentions the other man. It’s easier on both himself and Dean if they just don’t talk about it.

**[Dean] 5:48PM: Speakin of which, you got plans for next Saturday? Ben’s goin on and on about the space thing he brought home from school**

_[You] 5:49PM: The Cosmosphere in Hutchinson?_

_[You] 5:49PM: And no, I don’t yet have plans._

That’s true because he and Will haven’t planned anything beyond dinner tonight. An official “first date” since according to Meg, meeting at the club doesn’t count.

**[Dean] 5:51PM: You want to go with us? Its abt a two-hour trip but figured we’d make a day of it. Thought you might enjoy it.**

Castiel very much wants to go with them. Not only because he enjoys watching Ben when he’s excited about something, but because it would mean a whole day spent with Dean. As friends, of course, but Castiel is finding that even spending time with Dean as friends is very enjoyable.

_[You] 5:52PM: I see no reason why I wouldn’t be able to go, but I need to check on a few things first. Can I get back to you?_

**[Dean] 5:53PM: No problem. Let me know.**

There are no other texts, so he puts his phone in his pocket and empties his glass of now lukewarm water into the sink. Only a few minutes later, he hears the sound of a car in the driveway and then the doorbell. Juliet barks a few times, but sits in the foyer at his sharp command, her stump of a tail beating excitedly on the floor.

Will has his hands in the pockets of his black wool pea coat when Castiel opens the door. Castiel allows himself to appreciate the way he looks in his usual black jeans, but with the rock t-shirt replaced by a fitted turtleneck. When he finally meets Will’s eyes, the other man gives a slow wink and Castiel blushes.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Will says with a grin. “You look good too. How do you feel about Asian? There’s a little vegetarian place just across the river I thought you might like.”

Castiel pulls the door closed behind him and follows Will to the big silver pick-up truck sitting in his driveway. “That sounds wonderful.”

The drive to the restaurant is short, but conversation flows smoothly. Although Will spends most of the time entertaining him with stories about the various bands he’s worked with at the club, Castiel finds that Will has managed to learn quite a bit about him as well. He’s not sure how they got talking about high school proms, but Will is amazed when he admits that he didn’t go to his.

“I was a dorky, awkward teenager,” Castiel confesses in explanation.

Will laughs as he shuts off the truck in the parking lot and they get out. “So was I, but I managed to at least snag a pity date.”

“That sounds horrible,” Castiel responds with a shudder. “I was much happier at home by myself. My books and my painting kept me occupied.”

They walk through the gold front doors and Castiel listens as Will gives his name for the reservation. They follow the hostess through the small, dimly lit room to a tiny table in the back corner. Will shrugs his coat off before replying. “It actually wasn’t too bad. He was the brother of the girl my best friend was dating, so we just ended up talking about music and video games all night.”

There’s a break again when the waitress comes to take their drink orders and give them menus. Opening the slender pamphlet, Castiel scans the dishes and settles on the Panang Curry before setting it aside.  “So you knew in high school that you were gay?”

Will sets his menu aside as well. He seems to consider the question longer than Castiel thinks it deserves before he finally answers.  “I guess I thought about it in high school, that I might be gay, so it didn’t seem like such a bad thing to go to the prom with a guy. I wasn’t completely sure until college. I tried dating a couple different girls, but it just wasn’t the same, you know?”

“Not really,” Castiel admits. “I’ve never dated a woman. Honestly, I never gave much thought to girls or boys at all until college. I guess that sound rather lame.”

Will smiles easily. “Not lame. It’s different for everyone.”

By the time their food arrives, they’ve already talked about college and are bonding over the shared experience of not wanting to follow their father’s preferred career paths. “I hated anything to do with the sciences,” Castiel reveals, “so I knew Chemical Engineering was not going to be pleasant for me.”

Will chews his mouthful of noodles and swallows before answering. “Mine was convinced I’d get an MBA, so he wasn’t that thrilled when I ended up with a bachelor’s in World Lit.”

“Yes, I would imagine that isn’t exactly the same,” Castiel responds dryly. “My father didn’t find out until six months before I graduated that I’d changed my major to Art Theory. My mother is a fabulous artist and she hid it from him for all those years. It caused a major fight.”

“Good on your mom, though, for having your back.”

Castiel’s lips quirk up just slightly. “I think if it had been anything but art, she would have taken his side, but yes, it benefited me in the end.”

Although they talk about family and movies, favorite vacations and places they would like to visit, the best places they’ve eaten and foods they never want to try again, they very carefully do not talk about failed relationships. Although it’s been over four years since he’s done this, Castiel does remember some of the basic etiquette for first dates Meg has drilled into him. No politics, no religion, and no exes.

That’s why Castiel is surprised when Will suddenly turns serious as they’re waiting for the check. Castiel offered to pay for his own meal, but Will insisted that he cover the bill.

“I’m having a really good time,” Will announces, his dark eyes shadowed.

“I am, too. I’m glad you invited me.”

Will smiles, a small thing that makes him look sad instead of happy. “Good. I’m glad.” He seems to wrestle with something for a moment before he speaks again. “I know they say there’s all these things you shouldn’t talk about on a first date, but I’d rather have things out in the open.”

Castiel nods. “I agree,” he responds carefully.

“I had a pretty bad breakup about four months ago. We were together for almost six years, so it’s—” he breaks off to compose himself before continuing. “It’s been rough and I really haven’t been looking to date anyone.”

Castiel watches him steadily without answering.

“But I really like you. I’m just working and suddenly there’s this great guy right in front of me. How do I pass that up?”

“Will,” Castiel starts to reassure him.

“No, just let me say this. I really want to get to know you, but I really need you to be okay with taking it slow. I realized after the fact that I jumped into my last relationship way too fast. Things were going wrong almost from the beginning but I held on too tight. I can’t risk doing that again.”

Castiel reaches across the table and rests his hand on top of Will’s. “I understand. My last relationship ended over two years ago, but it was also an ugly split. I have a feeling I made many of the same mistakes you’re talking about.”

Will lets out a long, relieved breath. “I just don’t want you to take me bein’ hesitant to mean I’m not interested. Most guys have some expectations.” He runs his hand over his face with a small laugh. “I sound like a teenaged girl,” he says, then in higher falsetto, “I just want you to like me for me.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I told you before, I’m not interested in casual sex, if that’s what you mean by expectations. I guess I’m not like most guys in that regard, but it seems that we are both interested in the same thing. We’ll take things slow and see where they go.” 

“Okay,” Will agrees with another shaky breath. “So we’re just getting to know each other. No other expectations?”

Castiel gives him a wide smile. “Exactly.”

The conversation turns light again and they exit the restaurant in the midst of a debate over whether punk rock could be considered the forefather of '90s era grunge. “You know,” Will says as they start toward the lot where they left the truck, “if you want to walk a couple blocks, we could head down to Supersonic. Ava said they’re getting a boatload of old LPs in from an estate sale today. We could take first crack at it.”

Since it’s situated directly across from the Granada, Castiel has been in the quirky little music store more than once. He has always enjoyed the atmosphere, but he hasn’t been back since he figured out that it is the shop Dean talks about all the time; the place where he and Ash used to hang out, where he met Ben’s mother, and where one of his best friends works. 

Castiel looks down to where his fingers are intertwined with Will’s. It feels good to not have the urge to pull away from him, but Castiel doesn’t particularly want to take the risk of walking into a place with Will that he so closely associates with Dean. It seems immature to feel that way, but he can’t shake it. He just isn’t sure how to say that without making it sound like he doesn’t want to extend their time together.

“Hey,” Will says, tugging on his hand to pull him out of his thoughts. “We don’t have to. It was just a suggestion.”

“It’s not that I want the evening to end, but—”

Will cuts him off with a gentle smile. “You don’t have to explain. It’s cool. Hey, I know, the new Marvel movie is playing. We could do that if you don’t mind going clear down to the mall.”

Will looks hopeful and Castiel doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s never seen any of the other Marvel movies, so he just agrees with a smile. They walk back to the truck hand in hand.

Castiel’s deception lasts through the movie, which he quite enjoyed, but is discovered in the truck as they drive back to his house. “What do you mean you haven’t seen any of the Iron Mans?” Will asks, signaling to merge onto the highway.

“I’ve actually never seen any of the Marvel movies,” he admits with a shrug.

“So how the hell did you even know what was going on?”

“Explosions, attractive men in tight spandex, and glib one-liners. Remarkably, you can enjoy these movies without having any idea of the actual plot,” Castiel says with a straight face.

Will just shakes his head. “You’re somethin’ else.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Having made it through an entire first date, Castiel is surprised to find that the most awkward moment of the evening comes when Will walks him to his front door. “I had a very good time tonight,” Castiel offers, his voice sounding strained even to himself.

“Me too,” Will returns, not appearing to handle the self-consciousness any better.

Castiel struggles for a moment to think of something else to say before he blurts, “Would you like to come in?” At Will’s raised eyebrow, his face floods with heat. “For coffee,” he clarifies quickly.

Will chuckles and takes a step closer, grabbing both hands. “I think we better end this out here. Going slow or not, I’m not sure my willpower is good enough to walk you inside. Expectations are hard things to let go of.”

Castiel swallows at the images Will’s words conjure, of Will taking him inside and up to his bed. He hadn’t considered that Will only _thinks_ they should go slow. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t _want_ to go fast. Castiel worries at his bottom lip with his teeth then clears his throat.

“I’m not a saint, Castiel,” Will says with another of his boyishly charming grins. “I’m going to think about you in ways that are pretty much the opposite of going slow if you know what I mean.” He tugs on Castiel’s hands so that they step together, mere centimeters separating them, then releases his hands to slide his palms up Castiel’s arms.

Castiel shivers, but definitely not from the cold. “I do know what you mean.”

Will smirks slightly, leaning in closer so that his breath ghosts over Castiel’s lips. “Good. I’d like to kiss you now if that’s okay.”

Castiel sways toward him, eyelids fluttering closed. “Definitely okay.”

The brush of Will’s mouth against his is gentle, just a teasing press that is over almost before Castiel registers it. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like this; since he’s felt another person’s lips against his own, that he barely bites back his groan of frustration when Will pulls away. He lets himself lean forward, chasing the pressure, before he stops. For someone who is normally so aversive to touch, how can he possibly be so touch starved?

Will breathes out a soft laugh. Castiel opens his eyes to find himself staring into Will’s dark brown ones. “Patience, Castiel,” he says, pressing another kiss to Castiel’s cheek before walking backward to his truck.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this is the longest chapter yet at almost 10k words, so I hope it was worth waiting for!
> 
> On a side note, the Cosmosphere is a real place in Kansas and it looks incredibly cool on the website. I seriously want to go and I'm not even that interested in space.
> 
> Some art to go with this chapter:  
> [](http://s102.photobucket.com/user/kirchnsr/media/IMG_20151220_162240_zps5fpdfarh.jpg.html)

It’s still dark out when Dean bundles a sleepy Ben into the car, Benson clutched tight against him. The Impala is parked in the driveway so he can let it warm up in the early morning chill and the heavy rumble of her engine breaks the stillness. Ben grouses a little as Dean buckles him into his booster seat, but a quick reminder of where they are going is enough to quiet him.

The streets of their sleepy little suburb are practically empty as Dean navigates to Cas’ house. The sprawling modern structure seems so out of place in the traditional neighborhood, but it definitely suits Cas. Dean doesn’t blow the horn when he pulls into the driveway, but Cas comes out almost immediately anyway, bundled in the heavy tan trench coat he seems to favor.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greets with a smile. He takes a sip of his coffee and passes Cas the other travel mug he has nestled between his thighs. One of the bad things about driving a classic car is the lack of cup holders.

Cas narrows his eyes suspiciously as he takes the mug and pops the top off before squinting grumpily into the liquid. He raises it to his face and sniffs, then snaps the lid back on and takes a sip before a small smile breaks out. “Thank you, Dean.”

The warmth that kindles in Dean’s chest makes him glad he thought to bring a mug of the tea Cas likes. “No problem, man. Long drive ahead of us.” He pulls the big car out of the driveway and heads toward the turnpike that will take them south.

Cas grunts a reply and settles back against the seat, mug cradled in his hands. His slight scowl gradually eases as he sips the tea, staring out the windshield at the road.

“Not a morning person?” Dean teases, glancing over before focusing back on the road. Blackness is giving way to the pale watery light of a winter morning, making it easier to navigate.

Cas makes another small sound that might be agreement if it didn’t sound so annoyed. “Not particularly, no,” he finally answers. “I’ve always thought that people who run enjoy the early morning, but I’m still waiting for our relationship to develop.”

Dean chuckles. “So it’s a good thing I brought caffeine?”

“A very good thing.”

They settle into a comfortable silence, the rumble of the engine and swish of the pavement under the wheels the only sounds. Cas continues to sip his tea while Dean finishes his coffee in a half-dozen big gulps. He’s never really seen the point of sipping.

Finally, Cas sighs and closes the top of the mug, tucking it alongside him. “That was very thoughtful of you, Dean.”

Dean just shrugs. “I was makin’ one for me, so it wasn’t a big deal.” He doesn’t mention that he was up an hour early this morning pacing the house while he anxiously cleaned to take his mind off their trip today.

Cas looks at him curiously, then just nods. “Well, I appreciate it.” He motions at the cassette sticking halfway out of the radio. “May I?”

“Uh, sure. It’s a mixtape, so I can’t promise what you’ll get.”

Cas pushes the tape until it clicks into place. The whirl of the gears and tape hiss fill the car before the opening guitar of Blind Faith’s _Can’t Find My Way Home_ fades in _._ He adjusts the volume up a little, then leans back to listen. If Dean turns his head just slightly, he can see that Cas has closed his eyes. His pale pink lips are pursed as he listens, tapping out the rhythm on his leg with one hand. After the first chorus, he sits up straight and turns the music down. “It’s sad,” he comments, but there seems to be a whole dissertation in his words.

Dean swallows, keeping his eyes on the road. Something about the song has always made him feel like he knows exactly what the singer is talking about; like home isn’t a place but a state of being that Dean can’t quite find. Having Cas make an observation about the emotion behind it feels too vulnerable. “Yeah, I guess it is. My dad used to make all these tapes when we were kids, so they just kind of came along with the car.”

Although the plaintive vocals continue to wind through the car, Dean quickly scrambles for something to change the subject. “You gonna keep the original tape deck in the Camaro, or do you want to try to retrofit her? I haven’t tried it out yet. It still work?”

If the question seems forced, Cas doesn’t comment. He just shakes his head. “The tape deck was broken when I bought the car. I’ve thought about replacing it for authenticity, but honestly, I use digital music predominantly, so I’ve been considering installing a radio with Bluetooth that will connect to my phone.”

Dean shudders at the thought of a fancy new digital radio. “To each his own, man, to each his own.”

“It’s not like you don’t partake in technology created after the turn of the century, Dean,” Cas points out with a quirk of his lips. “You have both a flat screen television and a Blu-ray player.”

“Tech in my house and tech in my baby are two different things, Cas. Star Wars on the big screen is worth it, but I’ll take tape hiss over douchin’ her up any day.”

Cas shakes his head again though he is smiling affectionately. “You’re ridiculous.”

Dean can’t stop his grin at their easy banter. “Speakin’ of the Camaro, how are you doin’ without a car?”

“I’ve actually been meaning to ask you about that. I’m thinking of purchasing a second vehicle so that I won’t have to drive the Camaro in inclement weather. It seems like a shame after you’re putting so much work into repairing it,” Cas admits.

“You thinkin’ like an SUV, somethin’ four-wheel-drive?”

Cas nods. “Yes, something small I think, but that goes well in the snow. I drive so little that gas mileage isn’t a major concern.”

“We’ll go out and test-drive some stuff,” Dean offers, determinedly ignoring the little voice in his head whispering that maybe Cas’ new boyfriend, or whatever he is, might want to take him car shopping. Cas barely mentions the guy, but Dean knows they’ve been on a couple of dates. Thankfully, Ben’s groggy voice from the back seat distracts him before he can continue down his usual nauseating path of wondering if they’re fucking.

“I’m hungry, daddy.” Ben’s voice is scratchy with sleep.

Dean glances down at his watch. “We got another hour, bud. We can grab a snack when we get there.”

“But I’m hungry, my stomach is grumbling,” he insists. Dean looks in the rear view mirror and can see Ben’s face scrunching up.

Dean wants to get there right as the museum opens so they don’t have to deal with the crowds and stopping will make them late. “You had breakfast, Ben. There’s no reason you should be hungry,” he says as calmly as he can.

“But I am. I’m hungry now, one hundred and fifty percent hungry. My stomach might be eating itself, daddy. I’ve never been so hungry,” he laments, his voice is rising in volume with each word.

“Dean,” Cas says softly. Up until now, he’s been watching the exchange silently. “I don’t want to impose—”

“Impose away, man.”

“I know you want to make it to the museum early, but I was going to suggest that we stop,” he says gently.

Dean’s eyes widen in shock. “But you always say we shouldn’t give in.”

Cas nods slightly. “That’s true, but in this case, it may be a matter of picking your battles. There is a very good chance that if we don’t stop, Ben will work himself into a full blown meltdown, which we will then have to deal with when we arrive. Any time we lose by stopping may be worth it for Ben to be in a good mood when we get there.”

Dean doesn’t answer for a moment, but he thinks about what Cas said. Shit, this is complicated. Give in, don’t give in. How is he supposed to know what the right answer is? Well, if Cas says it’s better to stop, they’ll stop. After all, it’s kind of nice to have someone else tell him what to do for a change.

By the time they get off the highway and find a Gas N’ Sip, they’ve only lost about twenty minutes. All in all, Dean decides that Cas is right. Twenty minutes is definitely worth not listening to Ben scream for the next hour. With Ben snuggled back into his booster with a juice box and a little bag of cheese crackers, they’re on the road and pulling into the parking lot of the Cosmosphere faster than Dean expected.

“Look, daddy! Look, Mr. Novak! It’s a rocket ship. A real live rocket ship,” Ben exclaims when they get out of the car. Dean tucks Benson securely into the little backpack Ben wears, just the tip of his ears sticking out the top of the zipper.

“I hope it’s not live,” Dean mutters to Cas as they cross the lot. Cas bites back a grin.

Once they step through the front doors, Ben becomes a whirl of chatter. Artifacts hang from the ceilings and walls, surrounded by informational plaques and recordings that tell you about the display when you hit a button. Ben wants to see everything at once.

“Let’s get the tickets first, bud,” Dean says with a laugh, scooping Ben up into his arms so he can’t scamper away. He leads them over to the ticket booth.

Dean orders three all-day admission passes and slides his debit card across the counter to the young woman ringing them up. He gathers up the three dark purple wristbands and moves away from the counter to make room for the family behind them. Fastening Ben’s band loosely around his wrist, Dean then holds his hand out for Cas’ arm.

“You didn’t have to buy my ticket,” Cas says sternly, not giving in to the cue to present his arm for Dean.

Dean shrugs unapologetically. “I invited you, so I pay. It’s not a big deal.” He wiggles his fingers to indicate that Cas should put out his arm until Cas finally rolls his eyes and obeys. Dean pushes his sleeve up a few inches, baring the thick black lines of the tattoo there. Even though he wants to linger, he tries to fasten the band as quickly and clinically as he can, without brushing his fingers across the soft skin on the inside of the other man’s wrist. He holds himself back because the last thing he wants is to make Cas uncomfortable, to make him wish he hadn’t come with them.   

When he looks up to offer his own band to Cas for help fastening it, he’s caught by the deep blue eyes watching him. There’s a look in Cas’ eyes that Dean doesn’t recognize, something measuring and significant. Cas takes the band and Dean pulls his sleeve up to his elbow so the other man doesn’t have to wrestle with the heavy material. He almost jumps at the first gentle touch of Cas’ fingertips on the sensitive skin of his wrist. Unlike Dean’s careful detached approach, Cas cradles his wrist in the palm of his hand to steady it while he works the plastic clasp, the pads of his fingers brushing against his skin repeatedly.

When he’s done, Cas takes a step back and shoves his hands his pockets. He doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes, which Dean is grateful for because he isn’t sure what Cas will see there. He’s also appreciative of the way his jacket falls to just past his hips because it covers the bulge of his partial erection. It kind of makes Dean feel like a heel that he’s gotten turned on by his friend, a friend who is involved with someone else at that, simply touching his wrist in front of his son. _Pull your shit together, Winchester_ , he chastises himself.

The awkwardness doesn’t last long, at least, because Ben’s chatter picks up immediately. He grabs the brochure out of Dean’s pocket where he stashed it while they were dealing with the wristbands and excitedly points out exhibits. “Look, daddy, look. I want to see Sputnik and the Gemini 10. Ash brought me a book about the Gemini project, remember? I bet Ash would like to see this. They have a nuclear warhead, Mr. Novak! I bet it isn’t real, though. They couldn’t have a real missile here, right?”

Dean’s head is swirling with all of the information and he has no idea how to corral Ben’s enthusiasm. He almost winces at Ben’s mention of Ash, but a quick glance stolen at Cas shows that the other man doesn’t react at all.  Instead, he’s completely focused on Ben.

“Let’s just start at the main exhibit first and we’ll get to what we can,” Dean suggests, but he can tell immediately from the look on Ben’s face that his idea isn’t going to cut it.

“But what if we miss the movie? We have to look at the movie time because I want to see outer space. You promised we would see the space movie and now we’re going to miss it!”

Before Dean can argue back, Cas takes the brochure from him gently and kneels down in front of him. “Ben, look at me,” he says quietly but sternly. He waits until Ben raises his eyes to his face, then points to a display of moon rocks not far from where they’re standing. “Do you see that exhibit right there? I want you to go look at the moon rocks while your father and I decide on the best course of action. You will not miss the movie and we will see everything, but I need you to give us a chance to make a plan.”

Dean bites his lip while Ben thinks it over, then nods slightly. “Okay, Mr. Novak. I’ll be right there. I won’t go anywhere else. I’ll go right there to those rocks and look at them while you and daddy decide.”

“Thank you, Ben,” Cas says gravely, then turns to Dean as Ben makes his way ten feet away to the display. “I don’t mean to be too bold, Dean—”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Dean assures him, stunned by how quickly Ben listens to Cas. Dean feels like a failure because he always seems to lose his cool so quickly. “You always know the right thing to say.”

Cas shakes his head gently. “No, Dean. I don’t have some magic wand or secret knowledge. It’s normal that Ben gives you more problems. You’re his father and he knows your weaknesses. He’s used to a certain reaction from me because he only knows me in a very controlled environment.”

Dean frowns. “I didn’t ask you to come along today just so you could help with Ben. You’re not a babysitter or something,” he says quickly.

Cas smiles. “I know, Dean. I’m glad you invited me, that you want me to spend time with you and Ben. I don’t mind helping with him when it’s needed. That’s what any friend would do, yes? If Charlie or Sam or Jo were here?”

Dean heaves a sigh and runs one hand down over his face. “Yeah, you’re right.” But it doesn’t alleviate his guilt any.

“Okay, then, let’s make a plan before he loses interest in the rocks,” Cas suggests with a grin.

Dean has to admit; he gets just as excited as Ben. They watch a movie about the secret lives of stars, practice blasting off in a flight simulator, and participate in experiments during a live action science show. The drive, the cost, and any aggravation he’s felt are worth it for the look on Ben’s face. With half of the museum’s exhibits out of the way, they take some time to walk through the German space gallery on their way to the food court.

Dean hangs back a little bit, pretending to read the placard next to a German missile while Cas and Ben walk up ahead. He tries to imagine what the trip would have been like if Cas hadn’t come along. Hell, they wouldn’t even have made it to the museum without a meltdown. Ben says something to Cas, pulling on his sleeve, and Cas bends down to listen to him as he points animatedly at the display. After a moment, Cas stiffens and pats his pocket.

Dean watches as Cas pulls his phone out of his pocket and reads the front of it with a little smile. He responds to the text, still listening to Ben, then puts the phone back into his pocket. It’s not the first text Cas has gotten or responded to since they arrived. Dean knows it’s none of his business, but he wants to know who Cas is talking to. Meg? His brother?

Or is it Will? Dean wonders if Will knows where Cas is right now. Did he tell his boyfriend that he was going to a space museum with another man and his son? Did he tell Will that he and Dean are just friends, because no matter how it might burn in his gut, that is really all Dean is to Cas? Despite his frustration, Dean is pretty sure that’s exactly what Cas told him. He would be upfront and honest with Will about his friendship with Dean. He isn’t the type to lie or cover things up. Dean isn’t really sure why that doesn’t make him feel better.

He catches up with them as they’re looking at the last display in the long hallway. “You ready to grab something to eat? We still have a movie and the Apollo gallery to go, but I’m starving.”

“Do you they have chicken nuggets?” Ben asks, looking up from where he’s studying a German buzz bomb.

“A place that caters to kids, yeah, I’d be surprised if they didn’t have chicken nuggets.”

Now that the museum is in full swing, the food court is a madhouse. Children of all ages scramble over the booths and tables while parents attempt to contain them. “If you know what you want, Cas, why don’t you and Ben grab a table?” Dean suggests, surveying the chaos.

To Dean’s surprise, Cas shakes his head. “No, I’m buying lunch. No arguing,” he adds when Dean opens to mouth to do just that. “You paid for the tickets. You and Ben find a table and take a break together. I’ll get the food.”

Dean gives in to the resolve in Cas’ voice and leads Ben to one of the round tables. He’s only half listening to Ben ramble about the space station and the Mars rover because he’s watching Cas as he waits in line. They rented a locker so they could stow their jackets and Dean has a clear view to appreciate the way Cas’ jeans hug his hips. Rather than his usual button down, Cas had chosen a fleece pullover in dark red. Although his hair started the day in some semblance of order, he has run his hands through it so many times that it is endearingly messy again.

Despite the way he appreciates how sexy Cas is, it isn’t just his appearance that has Dean watching him. It’s the way he moves through the crowd, consciously considerate of everyone around him. It’s the way he looks back to check in on Dean and Ben every few minutes, not as though Dean can’t handle it, but just in case he’s needed. This must be what it feels like to be a family, Dean realizes. Ben was so little when Lisa died, and he and Lisa had barely been speaking to each other when they were living together, so it’s not like he has a lot of experience.

It’s not as if Dean isn’t used to going places with his family, but whether its Sam and Jess, Jo, Ellen, or his father, he’s the one responsible for Ben. They all look to him, wait for him to act, or hang back until he asks for help. There’s a clear distinction between him and Ben, and them. It hasn’t felt like that with Cas. The other man meshed with their little family unit so smoothly that Dean barely noticed. Dean never has to ask for help because Cas is always right there, supporting him and helping Ben, but without ever feeling condescending. He asks for Dean’s opinion and takes Dean’s thoughts seriously, even if he disagrees.

Cas is almost completely the opposite of Ash. While Ash is good with Ben when he’s interested, he’s more like Ben’s friend than a father figure. Maybe that’s why Ash doesn’t get an _Uncle_ in front of his name; Ben thinks of him as a kid. It wouldn’t be too far from the truth, after all. Ash is good at bringing Ben gifts and playing with him, but he tends to take the easy way out. When there’s an issue, he’s the first to back away and let Dean handle it. Given the option, he’d give in to Ben every time just to keep the peace. That’s not really what Ben, or Dean, need. They need someone who can be a partner for Dean but still be the kind of parent Ben needs. Shit, they need someone like Cas.

“Start passing out the food while I get ketchup and napkins,” Cas says, then snaps his fingers in front of Dean’s face and repeats it. “Dean? Are you okay?”

The tray of food is sitting in front of him on the table, but he hadn’t noticed Cas come back. “Yeah, I got it. Just tired I guess,” he says, forcing himself to focus on the task in front of him instead of the thoughts zipping around his head. He passes Ben his nuggets, puts the chicken wrap in front of the seat next to him, and pulls his cheeseburger toward him.

It’s impossible, though, to ignore the realization that he just found the answer he’s been chasing for the last month. It’s not about choosing between Cas and Ash because Ash was never an answer at all. Even if Ash comes home to Lawrence, gets down on one knee, and promises to never leave again, Dean isn’t convinced that he can be the kind of father Ben deserves, or the kind of partner Dean needs. Dean’s life isn’t music and partying and video games anymore. It’s laundry and IEP meetings and dealing with meltdowns. Even if nothing ever happens with Cas, Ash still won’t be an option. Dean takes a deep breath, feeling like someone just kicked him in the chest.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Dean?” Cas says, his eyes narrowed with worry. “You look pale. I hope you’re not getting sick.”

Dean lets out a sharp bark of laughter, sounding more like a strangled cough than anything like mirth. “Maybe,” he acknowledges, “but I’ll be okay.”

Dean forces himself to pay attention throughout the rest of the meal, but he’s still distracted. He’s pretty sure he should feel sad that he doesn’t have a future with the guy he’s been half in love with for most of his life, but all he feels is relief. Ash will always be family and he’s been a huge part of Dean’s life, but that doesn’t mean he has to be the answer to every question.

It’s a good thing Cas and Ben know what’s next on the itinerary because it’s all Dean can do to follow them when they leave the table. Thankfully, it’s a movie, so Dean gets forty-five minutes of uninterrupted time to freak out about his sudden insight. Ben is between him and Cas in the theater, which is probably a good thing because he can’t stop sneaking little looks at the man’s profile.

It figures that Dean would come to this conclusion too late. Cas is with Will. Dean missed his chance. Or did he? A couple dates really isn’t the same thing as being committed, is it? What would Cas say if Dean told him that he wants to be with him? He doesn’t really have a good picture of how serious Cas is about Will because every time the other man comes up, Dean finds a reason to end the conversation or change the subject. Now he’s wishing he’d let Cas talk more.

Cas told him to be honest. He made Dean promise to be upfront. That means that even if Cas is with Will, he would want Dean to tell him how he feels, right? Dean’s never been good with words, though. Now that he and Cas have settled into this unsatisfying friendship, he’s not sure how to bring it up, or if he even should.

“Are you coming, daddy?” Ben questions, taking his hand. Dean glances around and realizes that the lights in the theater are on.

“I believe your father may not be feeling well,” he hears Cas tell Ben, concern evident in his voice. Dean clambers to his feet and allows Ben to pull him down the row of seats with them.

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean reassures, even though he’s feeling confused and off-balance. “Let’s go look at the last exhibit and hit the gift shop. I wanna get out of here by three. We still have a long drive home.”

Dean follows them to the door of the theater, which is clogged with people. As the throng squeezes down to a single file line to exit the theater, he finds himself right behind Cas. Taking a risk, he intentionally touches the other man for the first time since Cas jerked away from him in the garage. Dean moves up closer so that Cas can see that it’s him at his side, then gently lets his hand slide across the small of the other man’s back. When Cas doesn’t flinch, he lets it linger there, the soft fleece of Cas’ hoodie warm against his palm. As they move through the final gate and onto the main exhibit floor, Cas glances sideways, catching Dean’s eye knowingly. He realizes then that Cas is fully aware of where Dean’s hand is, and is letting Dean touch him. Dean can’t fight the smile that bubbles up. Maybe he hasn’t missed his chance after all.

* * *

* * *

The Apollo space program may be one of the most famous, but the gallery of artifacts is doing little to keep Castiel’s attention. Ben insists on reading and discussing every placard with Castiel and his father, so he has to maintain his composure, but he’s becoming less and less interested in manned spaceflight.

“Look at the spacesuits, Mr. Novak,” Ben calls, tugging his father over to the display and leaving Castiel to trail behind. “They used two different suits for the Apollo mission. They used the A7L and the A7L-B.” He reads the information off the sign next to the glass, but Castiel has no doubt Ben already knew it. Normally, he’s attentive and interested in anything Ben has to say, as he finds the child’s intellect to be fascinating. This afternoon, however, is becoming a struggle and the reason is standing less than a foot away.

Castiel can’t shake the feeling that something changed during the last movie and that it started at lunch. After all, Castiel is trained to pay attention to behavior and Dean’s behavior has been very odd. The day started out as enjoyable as his time with Dean usually is. He’s glad to be of help with Ben and Dean seems to appreciate it. Things are no longer as awkward between them as they were in the aftermath of Christmas and their friendship has settled into a placid arrangement.

However, Dean has been acting increasingly peculiar since lunch. The other man seemed distracted and distant throughout the meal. Though he answered when they talked to him, Castiel couldn’t shake the feeling that Dean was preoccupied with something. At first, Castiel was concerned that he’d gotten some message from home, but as the meal went on and Dean didn’t say anything about it, Castiel became more and more perplexed.

“Daddy, come look at the command module,” Ben calls, sprinting away toward the next exhibit. Dean chuckles softly and follows, sliding his arm along Castiel’s side as he goes. Goosebumps slither across his skin beneath his fleece hoodie.

And that, case in point, is exactly the problem. He and Dean have been tiptoeing around each other since Christmas. When Dean put his hands on Castiel’s waist in the garage, his first instinct was to flinch and pull away. He could tell that his reaction hurt Dean, but he’d reacted without the usual filter he uses to avoid drawing attention to himself. Ever since then, Dean has been careful not to touch him. Castiel usually follows that pattern himself, not wanting to introduce any misunderstandings into their relationship when they are just finding solid ground again.

Today, when he fastened Dean’s wristband, was the first time he has touched Dean since Christmas and he had been curious to see what his reaction would be. He was pleased to realize that he feels none of the discomfort that had recently sparked between them. Whatever changes in their relationship had occurred after Christmas, at least the effects seem to be fleeting.

Despite that, he hadn’t been prepared when Dean touched his back while they were leaving the movie. At first, he thought the other man had done it by accident, but when Dean let his hand remain there it became clear that the contact was intentional. He didn’t move away from the touch but also didn’t do anything to encourage it.

Or at least, he thought he hadn’t. Castiel isn’t so sure now. Where the last few weeks have been completely devoid of any kind of physical contact between himself and Dean, the last twenty minutes have more than made up for it. Every time Dean moves past him, he brushes against Castiel’s side. From nonchalantly taking Castiel’s arm to guide him to the next display to brushing the back of his hand against Castiel’s as they walk, casual touches abound.

It isn’t even the contact that has Castiel so flustered. It’s his reaction to it. He remembers full well what it was like to want Dean’s touch, to seek it out in the weeks before Christmas when he thought they’d been moving toward something more than friendship. He recalls the way he would lean into the pressure, the slight tingle left afterward so much more pleasant than the buzzing discomfort he usually felt. 

He wanted Dean’s touch then, and gods help him, he wants it now. The thought makes him feel guilty and frustrated. As if on cue, the phone in his pocket buzzes, no doubt with another message from Will. They’d started texting more regularly since their date last weekend, though nowhere near the frequency or familiarity he has with Dean. Will has been moderately attentive today, seeking to maintain the connection even while Castiel is spending the day with a friend.

The uncomfortable turmoil in his stomach at that thought is the perfect reminder of why Castiel is so upset with himself. Every time he allows Dean to touch him without pulling away, every time he leans into the pressure, he’s being dishonest and disloyal to Will and it rankles. Most people wouldn’t consider the mildly friendly touches to be anything concerning, but Castiel knows how important it is that he allows them.

Although he and Will are nowhere near the point of commitment, it would be deceitful to excuse his behavior by pointing out that they’ve never discussed whether they are seeing other people. Even after only one date, Castiel is sure that Will assumes, if not faithfulness, then, at least, discretion. Castiel himself has always been what Meg calls a serial monogamist and though he imagines that she means it contemptuously, the label is quite accurate. So for him to allow Dean to engage in these little flirtations is concerning. 

His phone buzzes again and Castiel reaches to pull it out. Dean is listening intently to something Ben is saying about the Apollo command module in front of them, so he takes a moment to respond.

**[Will] 2:41PM: Band for tonight canceled the gig, so I’m off.**

**[Will] 2:48PM: If ur back before 7, let me know. We’ll get dinner.**

_[You] 2:49PM: We are leaving here shortly, I believe. I will contact you once we’re back in Lawrence._

He glances up at Dean and Ben as he slides his phone back into his pocket. Though Ben continues to talk incessantly about the display, Dean is watching Castiel with an unhappy expression. As soon as Dean realizes Castiel has seen him, though, he looks away. Castiel narrows his eyes in confusion but walks over to join them.

“We’re just about done here,” Dean announces. “Figured we’d hit the gift shop then head for home.” Dean doesn’t meet his eyes or try to touch him though he’s standing close enough to brush against accidentally, which only increases Castiel’s bewilderment.

Ben slips his hand into Castiel’s and he forces himself to focus on his student, the reason he’s here. Though spending time with Dean is an added bonus, it was really the desire to watch Ben experience something he so clearly loves that prompted him to accept the invitation. Dean takes Ben’s other hand and they start toward the gift shop.

As expected, the Cargo Bay store is designed to entice children into badgering their parents for toys and souvenirs, so it is no surprise that Ben’s eyes light up as soon as they get inside. He and Dean bracket Ben, carefully guiding him toward appropriate and affordable purchases. After two circuits of the store, it’s clear that they’re going to have to start moving Ben along if they want to leave by three-thirty, but Dean isn’t exactly helping the situation.

“Your son is adorable,” a young woman wearing a Cargo Bay t-shirt shares, stopping to reorganize the stuffed animals on the shelf next to him. She waves absently at Dean and Ben as they try on silly hats. “Your guy isn’t too bad either,” she adds with a wink.

Castiel starts to explain, to say that neither Ben nor Dean is _his_ , but the words won’t come. He watches them growl at each other in pirate voices then giggle at floppy jester hats and wonders wistfully what it would be like to be a father, to actually have a role in raising a child rather than just watching from the outside. What would it be like to belong to a family? He bites back all the disclaimers he was about to give. “Thanks,” he responds softly instead. “They are pretty great, aren’t they?”

Castiel swallows hard and walks over to join Ben and Dean at the hat rack. Dean immediately pulls a bumblebee-shaped hat, complete with tiny wings, stinger, and a floppy flower, from the rack and plops it on Castiel’s head. “It’s completely you, man,” he chortles, looking just as silly in a hat shaped liked a toucan.

Castiel grins and settles the hat more firmly on his head. “Perhaps I’ll purchase it,” he says. “I need a new hat for the walk to school.”

“You can’t wear a bumblebee to school, Mrs. Novak,” Ben exclaims with a laugh, his own hat resembling a cross between a duck and very fat chicken.

“I don’t believe I saw that in the school rules, Benjamin. I’ll have to discuss it with Ms. Johnson. Perhaps they’ll make an exception for me.”

Dean chuckles and snags all of the hats. “You’re somethin’ else,” he says with a shake of his head.

“So I’ve been told."

By the third circuit around the store, Ben has amassed a list of several hundred dollars’ worth of toys. Dean crouches on the floor next to him, calmly explaining that he needs to pick something less than fifty dollars. Dean is starting his third recitation of options when Ben starts crying.

“It’s not fair! I came on a long car ride and I should get the toys!”

“Ben, we’re not getting all those toys. You need to pick one or two things under fifty dollars,” Dean explains again softly. Castiel is impressed by how Dean is keeping his cool even as Ben’s cries start to attract attention.

“You’re mean,” Ben yells. “This is the worst trip ever. I didn’t even want to come because this is the stupidest place and it’s no fun.” He’s starting to cry in earnest, and Castiel can see that Dean is starting to lose his patience.

“If it was so boring and stupid then I’ll never take you—”

“Dean,” Castiel cuts in before Dean can say something he doesn’t mean. He lays his hand on Dean’s arm to get his attention, ignoring the wide eyes Dean turns on him. Dean’s gaze flickers between his hand on Dean’s arm and his face a few times, before settling on his face. “Would you mind if I tried?”

Dean throws up his hands in exasperation. “Have at,” he barks, clearly closer to the edge of his patience than Castiel thought.

Castiel takes a deep breath and moves to stand directly in front of Ben. “Benjamin Winchester, look at me,” he says, his voice calm but commanding. Ben continues to cry, but his eyes flick up to Castiel’s face. “You have until I count to twenty to make a decision. If I get to twenty, we will leave without buying anything.”

Ben’s wails increase in volume. “You’re stupid! I’m not leaving unless I get my toys. You can’t make me.”

Castiel can see that Dean is on the verge of jumping in, so he holds up one hand in placation, then turns back to Ben. “If I count to twenty before you decide, I or your father will pick you up and carry you out to the car, Ben. You need to decide whether you’re going to make a good choice.” Castiel immediately starts counting, slowly but steadily.

As he would have predicted, Ben starts to wail louder. He continues to fling insults and threats at both Castiel and Dean, but Castiel just continues to count. He’s thankful that Ben hasn’t become aggressive because that would have led to them carrying him out of the store immediately. At least this way, there is still the possibility of a peaceful resolution.

When Castiel gets to seventeen, Ben is still arguing, but he has started taking big gulps of air to calm himself down. By eighteen, he stops crying completely and by nineteen he is quiet. Castiel doesn’t say anything for a few moments to give Ben a chance to think. Finally, in a soft, strained voice, he murmurs, “I like the moon globe.”

Castiel glances up at Dean, who nods. “Okay, but I need you to listen. Your father is going to buy the globe, but you can’t have it today.”

“But I want it,” Ben mutters, starting to cry again.

“I know you do, but you didn’t make good choices just now. You called me and your father names and made a scene, so you can’t have the globe until tomorrow. Do you understand?”

There is mutiny in Ben’s eyes and he looks like he’s about to wind up again, so Castiel adds, “If you decide to make another scene, we will leave and you won’t get to buy anything. Do you understand?”

Ben finally relents. “I understand.”

Castiel retrieves the globe from the shelf and hands it to Dean, who is looking at him with an odd expression. As they pay and leave the gift shop, Dean continues to sneak little looks at Castiel over Ben’s head. Finally, as they’re retrieving their coats, Castiel can’t take it anymore. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he practically snaps, acting on his discomfort.

Dean flushes and looks away quickly. When he turns back, his cheeks are still infused with heat. “That was pretty badass,” he mutters, not meeting Castiel’s eyes.

“Standing up to Ben?”

“Uh, yeah. Usually, when it gets to that point, like a standoff, I end up compromising just to get us out of there. But you just told him how it was going to be and didn’t back down. How’d you know he was going to cave?”

Castiel considers his answer carefully. “Honestly, I didn’t, but I was willing to deal with the consequences if he called my bluff and Ben has learned that about me. Compromising has a time and a place, but in a situation like that, compromise is just another name for giving in. It may end the tantrum at the time, but will ultimately lead to him learning that the behavior works to get what he wants.”

Dean nods in thought, then smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Cas. I’m really glad you’re here.”

Castiel lets the flutter of warmth grow as they make their way back out to the car. While he’s always enjoyed teaching and helping the parents in any way he can, there is something different about being there for Ben and Dean. He’s not just instructing them but is actively playing a role in helping Ben grow. It’s overwhelming.

The drive back to Lawrence is long but mercifully uneventful. Although it’s only mid-afternoon when they leave, it doesn’t take long for Ben to fall asleep in the back seat, the day’s events having exhausted him. Dean switches out the cassette for another one from the box he keeps under the seat and Castiel lets himself doze a little as well, the companionable silence relaxing him.

It’s just after six when they reach Topeka. The last notes of Led Zeppelin’s _The Rain Song_ fade away and Dean ejects the tape before the next song starts. “Hey, I’m starvin’. I’ve got frozen enchiladas defrosting in the fridge that I can toss in the oven when we get back if you wanna come over for dinner,” he says casually though the way his hands fidget on the steering wheel contradicts his feigned indifference.

Castiel thinks about Will’s last text message. Although he has been looking forward to seeing Will, the opportunity to share a meal with Dean and Ben is appealing. It only takes a few moments for him to make his decision. “Thank you, Dean. I think I would enjoy that if you don’t mind having me.”

Dean smiles, finally glancing sideways to meet Castiel’s eyes quickly before looking back at the road. “Wouldn’t have offered if I minded, Cas.”

They’re pulling down Dean’s street when Castiel’s phone buzzes, making him anxious before he even pulls it out. It’s most likely Will asking again when they would be back. For a moment, he thinks about lying and saying they still aren’t in town. Will said they would have dinner if Castiel was back before seven and there’s only twenty minutes to spare anyway.

Almost immediately, Castiel is disgusted with himself. Why would he need to lie? What would be the point? He pulls his phone out, ignoring the way Dean’s eyes dart quickly to the device and away.

_[You] 6:43PM: I’ve been invited to have dinner with my friend and his son. Raincheck?_

He turns the screen off but doesn’t put the phone in his pocket, waiting anxiously for the response instead.

**[Will] 6:45PM: :( I was looking forward to seeing you. I work tomorrow. Monday night?**

_[You] 6:46PM: Yes. I’ll text you tomorrow._

Castiel puts the phone in his pocket, ignoring the prickly sensation under his skin. There’s nothing wrong with having dinner with a friend, he tells himself, but the uncomfortable feeling won’t dissipate.

Arriving at Dean and Ben’s house quickly distracts him. Castiel picks up the globe from the back seat while Dean pulls Ben out of his booster and into his arms. Ben grumbles sleepily and burrows his face against Dean’s neck, making Castiel’s heart warm at the sight.

Once they’re in the house, Dean deposits Ben on the couch. “Feel free to turn the TV on. This will only take a second,” he says, disappearing into the kitchen.

Castiel follows him instead, leaning against the doorframe while Dean peels plastic wrap from a casserole dish full of enchiladas and sprinkles cheese on them before covering the dish with foil. “Sammy would tell us we need a salad to go with this, but I figure salsa counts,” he says with a grin.

“The ingredients are, in fact, vegetables."

Dean’s face lights up. “See,” he exclaims, walking over to clap Castiel on the back of the shoulder, “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Castiel doesn’t tense or pull away, instead slowly turning to look at where Dean’s hand is resting, the warmth from his palm bleeding through the fleece hoodie. When he meets Dean’s eyes, there’s a brief flash of challenge before Dean slides his gaze away and withdraws his hand.

While dinner warms in the oven, Dean rouses Ben and they flip idly through the channels on Dean’s enormous television. Dean seems unimpressed by the number of television shows Castiel hasn’t seen, but he’s more pleased with Castiel’s familiarity with the Harry Potter movies than seems necessary. Like the last time he was at Dean’s house, they eat in the living room off of plates balanced in their laps. “Special occasion,” Dean says with a wink when Ben asks why they’re not sitting at the table.

“Hey, I know,” Dean exclaims after they’re done clearing their plates. Ben and Cas lounge at the kitchen bar while Dean loads the dishwasher. “Let’s watch Transformers. You said you’ve never seen it.”

Castiel savors the pleasant warmth that settles in his chest at finding another excuse not to let the day end. “Isn’t it almost Ben’s bedtime?” he asks.

Dean nods. “Sure, we’ll put him to bed before we put the movie on. He’s seen it already anyway.”

Helping Dean go through the motions of preparing Ben for bed affects Castiel more than he was expecting. _This is what it would be like to have a child_ , he thinks, handing Ben his night time snack. The calmness of the routine that is clearly practiced and reassuring for both of them leaves him feeling like he’s imposing. He desperately wants to run his hand through Ben’s hair, help him brush his teeth, and hug him before he crawls under his Milky Way bed sheets. Instead, he stands back like an awkward observer, feeling for all the world like he’s intruding on a special moment between father and son. He wasn’t expecting to want to be part of it so badly that it is like a physical pain in his chest, the sensation taking his breath away.

“I have to sing to him,” Dean says shyly, coming out of the doorway beside Ben’s room holding the guitar he got at Christmas. A slight blush is staining his cheeks.

Through the partially cracked door, Castiel can see Dean’s bed, the covers still tangled. He tears his eyes away quickly, shutting down the image forming of Dean sprawled amongst the blankets. When he looks up, the other man smirks slightly, as if he knows exactly what Castiel was just thinking about. “I can go out in the living room if having me listen makes you uncomfortable,” he offers as a segue to distract from his discomfiture.

“Nah, I don’t mind. Been playin’ in front of people for years.”

Castiel hovers in the hallway as Dean enters Ben’s room and rests at the foot of the bed. Dean’s singing voice is rich and full-bodied, a strong tenor that is a little unexpected given the deep gruffness of his speaking voice. Castiel closes his eyes and lets the sound wash over him, the powerful longing resurfacing with a vengeance.

When the last song is done, Dean kisses Ben on the forehead before turning out the light and slipping out of the room. Watching the scene, Castiel is left with a tingling sensation on his lips, as if he’s being drawn to kiss Ben to sleep himself. He turns away to prevent himself from giving into the urge. 

Dean seems oblivious to Castiel’s inner struggle. When he pushes his bedroom door open and sets the guitar inside, Castiel forces himself to look away so that he doesn’t steal another glimpse of Dean’s bed.

“Growin’ up the way we did, movin’ around so much, pretty much all I had to keep me sane was the guitar and Sammy,” Dean says, leading Castiel back down the hallway. “Sure wish now that I’d taken up a smaller instrument. Lugging that thing everywhere just so Ben can get to sleep is a pain in the ass.”

“You play for him every night?”

“Yeah,” Dean confesses with a bark of humorless laughter. “We’ve tried havin’ me play earlier in the day or just usin’ a recording but he can’t get to sleep without it. It’s damn inconvenient to do anything when I gotta stop and run home to put him to bed.”

Castiel squints slightly as he thinks. “Have you tried a video?”

“Video?”

“Yes. Ben is very visually oriented. He may respond better to a video, perhaps coupled with a shirt that smells like you for an added sensory component.”

Dean grimaces. “Smells like me?”

“Well, yes,” Castiel concedes with a small swallow. “You have a very particular scent that is probably comforting to Ben.”

Dean grins, a flirty look in his eye that Castiel hasn’t seen since before Christmas. “You sayin’ I smell good, Cas?” he asks softly, his voice going husky at the end.

Castiel fights a blush and gives Dean what he hopes is a dry look. “Regardless of whether your scent is good or not, Ben will associate it with you.”

There’s another flash of challenge in Dean’s eyes when Castiel doesn’t react to his flirtation, then he chuckles and looks away while shaking his head. “Okay, yeah, it’s worth a try.”

Once they’re back in the living room, Castiel takes a seat in the same spot on the couch as last time. Dean puts the movie on, then settles on the other end in a perfect imitation of that night. Despite how hard he forces himself to pay attention to the movie, Castiel is hyper aware of Dean sprawled on the couch just a few feet away. The last time they’d done this, there had been so many misconceptions between them. Tonight, though, Castiel knows that Dean is single, and given Dean’s behavior today, he’s interested in pursuing something beyond friendship.

The urge to slide closer to Dean’s end of the couch takes Castiel by surprise, but the questions that quickly surface in the wake of the impulse are just as difficult to process. How can he want to touch Dean when he’s starting a relationship with Will? Does Dean’s behavior today mean that he’s ready to move past Ash? What if he isn’t? Should he ask Dean outright what he’s thinking or give Dean a chance to tell him rather than put him on the spot?

Castiel chances a glance at Dean, but it does nothing but increase his confusion. Dean’s face is bathed in flickering light from the television, but his beauty is no less striking than it was the first time Castiel saw him standing outside his classroom. The fierceness of the desire to possess that beauty, to crush Dean to him and make the other man his, is overwhelming.

Regardless of the circumstances, there has been a magnetic attraction toward Dean from the very beginning. Castiel tries to remember if he’s felt that with Will. The other man is sweet and attractive, funny and kind, but if Castiel is being honest, there isn’t the kind of pull there is with Dean. Sudden nausea overtakes him as he wonders if he’s settling for Will just to not have to think about Dean. He wouldn’t do that to someone, would he? Castiel fights the urge to sprint to the bathroom and empty his stomach. If that’s what he’s doing, he’s failing the very honesty that he demanded from Dean.

Castiel’s thoughts continue to spiral throughout the rest of the movie. He laughs in the appropriate places and gasps at the explosions, but he’s spurred on by Dean’s reactions rather than a true interest in the movie. By the time the end credits roll, he’s fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to tell how the movie ended if asked.

Dean reaches over and clicks the switch on the lamp next to the couch, soft light flooding the room and making Castiel squint. “So what’d you think? Pretty awesome, huh? Your ’87 isn’t quite as cool as the ’77, but the paint will still be pretty sweet,” he rambles.

Before Castiel can answer, there’s a knock on the door. Dean holds up a hand to forestall Castiel’s response and crosses the room to pull the door open. Dean’s father stands on the porch.

“Perfect timing, dad,” Dean says, stepping back to allow the older man to enter. “Sorry to drag you out tonight, but I didn’t want to pull Ben out of bed to take Cas home. He’ll probably sleep straight through, but it’s not worth the risk of him waking up when I’m not here.”

Castiel is confused for a moment before he realizes that Dean must have contacted his father to come stay with Ben. The amount of foresight Dean puts into every situation is impressive.

John grunts a greeting to Castiel before settling on the couch and tuning the television to a hockey game. “No big deal. Your TVs better than mine anyway,” he mutters distractedly.

Still reeling from the realizations of the night, Castiel is barely aware of following Dean to the car or the trip through the neighborhood. It isn’t until Dean shuts the car off that Castiel even realizes that they’re in his driveway.

“Thank you for inviting me today, Dean. I had a good time,” Castiel manages to say, proving that he hasn’t completely lost his mind.

Dean doesn’t respond immediately, just sits there watching Castiel steadily until he’s not sure he’s going to respond at all. Finally, he just nods very slightly before saying, “You’re welcome, Cas. I’m glad.”

They sit like that with Castiel unable to tear his gaze away from Dean’s eyes, until Dean finally flicks his eyes down at the seat between them. As if released from a spell, Castiel fumbles for the door handle and lets himself out of the car. He’s halfway to the house when he hears the car door open behind him.

“Cas, wait.”

Castiel pauses on his front step while Dean jogs up the driveway. He turns back just as Dean reaches him and comes to a stop barely a foot away. They stand there a moment in an odd parody of the way he stood in this same spot with Will just a week ago. His heart pounds so loudly that he’s sure Dean can hear it.

“I, ah, I gotta say somethin’. I wasn’t going to, but I just can’t, I mean, I don’t want to not say it tonight and then lose my nerve, ‘cause I tend to be chickenshit about this kind of stuff and this is important. You’re important, and I promised you I’d tell the truth, and even though I feel like I’m going to puke on your shoes right now, I gotta say it,” Dean rambles and rambles, until Castiel wants to grab him by the arms and shake him until he spits it out.

“Just say it,” Castiel says, his voice sounding incredibly calm even though he can hear his blood rushing in his ears.

Dean takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he stares right into Castiel’s, the green of his irises almost luminescent in the light from over the door. Suddenly, he reaches down and grabs Castiel’s hands in his. As if the contact grounds him, he takes another shaky breath and says softly, “This is it. This is me tellin’ you this is what I want. You’re what I want, not Ash, not anyone else. It took me way longer to figure it out than it should have, but I saw it today, you know? How easy you fit into our family, like you just clicked into place like a puzzle piece.”

He stops and takes another deep breath, studying Castiel’s face as if he’s looking for any indication of his reaction. Castiel isn’t sure what he sees, because he can’t even process thought enough to recognize his own reaction right now, but it must reassure him because he continues. “You make me want to be selfish. I want to ask you to tell Will to take a hike, but I know that’s not my call. I want to kiss you so bad it hurts, but I won’t be that guy either. I just, well, you asked me to be upfront so this is me bein’ upfront.”

Dean waits for a long moment for any kind of response, but Castiel can’t collect his thoughts enough to give him one. This is certainly not how he was expecting the day to end. Finally, he opens his mouth to reply even though he’s not sure what he’s going to say, only to have Dean place one finger over his lips, pressing just hard enough to get his point across. “Don’t say anything. Not tonight. Just, well, just think about it, sleep on it, whatever. Whatever you have to say can wait. I’m not goin’ nowhere, no matter what you come up with. If you need to be with Will, I’ll be your friend and that’s it. I’ll respect that, I swear I will. But, well, just, yeah. That’s it, that’s what I had to say.”

He drops Castiel’s hands and sprints back to the car. Before Castiel can even coordinate himself enough to take a breath, Dean is behind the wheel and backing out of the driveway. Castiel stares at his tail lights until they disappear into the darkness.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly boys! I kind of feel like this is the chapter everyone has been waiting for, so I hope it does the wait justice!

Castiel slides the bright orange folder into the last backpack and hands it to Becky. “That’s all of them. Do you need help taking them out?”

She gives him a wide, perky grin and gathers up all five bags in two hands. “I’ve got it, Castiel,” she chirps with a thumbs up. Castiel can see Meg rolling her eyes over Becky’s shoulder. Almost five months in the classroom together has done nothing to lessen Meg’s dislike of the bubbly classroom aide.

While Meg and Becky take the children out for dismissal, Castiel wanders the room straightening up. After his third circuit, he realizes that Meg is standing in the doorway watching him, hip braced against the doorframe.

“Everyone get on the bus okay?”

She nods. “Mary Poppins took off, too. Had to get to her book club or whatever.”  She pushes away from the door and saunters across the room toward him, eyes narrowing. The sight sends a chill up Castiel’s spine. “You going to tell me what’s got your panties in a twist?”

Castiel intentionally looks away and aligns the books on the shelf beside him. “I don’t know what you mean."

“Sure. That’s the third time you’ve straightened those books, Clarence,” she points out, folding her arms across her chest. “You’ve been short-circuiting all day, so you can either tell me what it is or I can call your sweetheart and ask him.”

Castiel flinches and Meg grins wickedly. “Curiouser and curiouser,” she says with a small laugh, hiking herself up to sit on the windowsill next to him. “So it’s about Will. Spill it. Did he turn out not to be the Prince Charming you thought he was?” Though her tone is light, there’s a hard edge under her words that is more than a little scary.

“Will is fine. He’s great. We’re having dinner tonight.”

She purses her lips. “So why don’t you look happy about that?” she asks astutely.

Castiel shrugs, an unbidden image of Dean flashing through his mind. He straightens the bookshelf for the fourth time, ignoring Meg’s soft huff of amusement, then reaches down and snaps the rubber band on his arm. He flinches as the band hits the abused skin of his wrist.

Meg’s hand snakes out and grabs his arm in an iron grip. She shoves his shirt sleeve up, exposing the red and welted flesh. “What the actual fuck, Castiel?” she barks angrily, masking the concern in her voice. “You promised me you weren’t doing this enough to hurt yourself.” She yanks the red band off his arm and throws it across the room.

Castiel lowers his eyes contritely. He’s been so preoccupied with thoughts of Dean since Saturday that it seemed like a good idea to make the other man the focus on his awareness exercise. He had snapped the band so many times by lunchtime that the skin was raised and warm to the touch. He hadn’t stopped even though he was running the risk of actually breaking the skin.

His mind has been on an endless, torturous loop since Saturday night, replaying Dean’s confession in his head until he can’t seem to hear anything else. He had stumbled into the house after Dean drove away, an unidentifiable feeling bubbling in his stomach. Although it had been late and he was exhausted, he couldn’t quiet his mind enough to sleep, so he’d crawled out of bed and ran through his entire yoga routine. When that too failed to comfort him, he’d pulled out his sketchbook and filled page after page with fantastical beasts, angelic warriors, and scheming sorceresses until he fell asleep slumped over the table.

Even now, in the face of Meg’s concerned indictment, Castiel can’t seem to pull his thoughts together enough to put his upheaval into words. “I’m sorry,” he says softly instead.

She runs the pad of her thumb over the reddened skin, some of which is darkening into a bruise at the edges. “Talk to me, you self-flagellating asshole,” she demands, reaching up to cup his cheek and turn his face toward her.

Castiel lets out a long sigh and slumps into the chair next to her. With her sitting on the windowsill, she is at the perfect height to lay his head comfortably on her thigh. The way she brushes her hand slowly through his hair, petting the soft waves, reminds him of how his mother would comfort him as a child. He breathes deeply, then says, “I think I’m going to break things off with Will tonight.”

It’s the first time he’s allowed himself to actually think the words, let alone say them, but they’re not as distressing as he thought they would be. If he hadn’t spent the last day and a half running away from his feelings, he could have just admitted that there hadn’t really been any question.

Meg’s hand stills for a moment then continues to brush his hair back away from his forehead and over the shell of his ear. It’s strangely soothing though he knows that Meg would commit murder before ever admitting that she’d done it. “I thought you liked him,” she says softly, her voice holding none of its usual bite.

“I do. He’s a wonderful person, but I can’t help but feel like something is missing. Dean—”

“I should have known that asshole had something to do with this,” she interrupts, hand curling protectively in his hair.

Castiel pulls away to sit up and look at her. “Don’t call him that.”

“Castiel, after Christmas—”

“Enough,” Castiel cuts in sharply, staring her down. “Yes, Christmas was a debacle and I’m sure there are many things that Dean could have done differently, but he is not completely at fault. I could have been clearer about what I was looking for and Ash could have been less difficult. It was unfortunate and uncomfortable, but not entirely on Dean’s shoulders.” Castiel stands to pace across the room.

Meg throws her hands up. “Okay, fine, whatever. I still don’t trust him.”

“You don’t even know him. This is a knee-jerk reaction to what Gabriel and Kali told you.”

“And I wouldn’t have known anything about it at all if they hadn’t thought to clue me in. You had a chance to tell me yourself,” she counters.

“I knew how you would react!”

“So it’s such a fucking horrible thing that I don’t like you getting hurt?”

Castiel glances over at the open classroom door before stalking over to push it shut. An elementary school isn’t the best place for this conversation, but it’s long overdue. “I know you don’t, and I appreciate it, but has it ever occurred to you that I don’t need your protection? I’m a grown man,” he asserts, crossing the classroom to stand in front of her again.

“Tell that to Malachi.” As soon as the words are out, her eyes pop wide and she covers her mouth. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Goddammit.” She reaches for him, but he steps out of reach and holds up a hand to stop her.

Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to stand against the wave of emotion that always comes with the mention of his ex. Shame, fear, guilt, disgust, horror, they whirl in a vortex in his chest. He takes a few more deep breaths to center himself and then shoves them away.

When he opens his eyes, Meg is pale, watching him with a wary expression. Without speaking, he steps forward. Meg’s legs splay open slightly, allowing him to stand between her knees and he wraps his arms around her. He holds her against his chest and the stiff tension bleeds out of her. “I know, Meg.”

She takes a shaky breath. “I am sorry, Castiel. That was uncalled for.”

“Malachi did a number on both of us,” he soothes, running a hand over her hair in a sudden reversal of their roles.

Meg snorts. “You can say that again.” She pushes out of his arms and looks up at him. “Okay, so, Winchester?”

Castiel sighs. “Dean has, well, he’s expressed his intention to pursue a romantic relationship with me.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “Can’t you just talk like a normal person for once? Just say that he wants to jump your bones.”

Castiel sits on the windowsill next to her with a huff. “I’d like to believe his intentions go beyond intercourse.”

“Sweet Jesus, don’t call it intercourse,” she gripes. “Okay, okay, so he wants to go steady. What about his boy toy from Christmas?”

“I’m not sure. I assume Dean has made some kind decision concerning Ash, but we haven’t had a chance to discuss it.”

Meg narrows her eyes. “By which you mean you’ve been avoiding the topic.”

Castiel screws up his mouth, then relents. “Which means I’ve been avoiding the topic. I know we need to talk about this, but I’ve been a little overwhelmed.”

“Because of Will.”

Castiel turns sideways on the sill to look at her. “Because of Will. I’m 37 years old and I’ve never broken up with someone before.”

“Your boyfriend being hauled off in handcuffs might not count, but you broke up with Michael and Raphael,” she points out.

“I didn’t intend to break up with either of them. Things went horribly wrong with Michael from the moment he asked me to move in with him, but I never intended that to be the end of our relationship. When Raphael insisted I choose between moving here and him, there wasn’t really any question, but it still doesn’t mean I wanted the relationship to end. I’ve never intentionally called things off with someone before. I’m seeing him tonight and I’m not even sure what to say.”

Meg lays a hand gently on his knee and cocks her head to the side. “Not to go all cliché and everything, but just be honest. You’ve only been on a few dates, just lay it out and make a clean break.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

Meg shrugs. “Probably too late for that, but it is what it is. Better than stringing him along if Winchester is what you want.”

“I suppose. I’m not looking forward to it,” he says with a grimace.

“No one ever does.” She jumps down off the windowsill and takes his hand. “Better get you home so you can wallow for a while.”

He allows Meg to give him a ride even though the weather isn’t horrible. In a particularly un-Meg-like act of sentimentality, she kisses him on the cheek before he climbs out of the SUV, which doesn’t lessen the ball of anxiety in his stomach any. “You want to come over after? Call me and I’ll come get you,” she offers.

“I don’t think so. I’ll probably just go to sleep.”

She frowns. “Don’t spend all night beating yourself up. I’m just hanging out at home tonight, so I could use the company.”

He doesn’t answer, just gives her a half wave and lets himself into the house.  Pulling off his school clothes as he climbs the steps, Castiel shoves them into the hamper just inside the bathroom door and steps into the shower. With dual jets and programmable temperature, Castiel has always been unreasonably fond of his shower, but today the pounding pressure and hot water do nothing to relax him.

After pulling on fresh clothes, Castiel finally thinks about the logistics of what he’s about to do. Will is due to arrive in less than forty-five minutes and Castiel can’t seem to swallow past the lump in his throat. Should he wait until after dinner or call Will into the house before they leave? What should he say? He’s not even sure how to begin this conversation.

Sure that he isn’t going to want to deal with Juliet’s attention, he locks the dog in his bedroom and heads downstairs. Walking into the kitchen, Castiel makes himself a cup of tea to calm his nerves. He isn’t sure whether to expect anger or sadness from Will, but he isn’t looking forward to either. Although he’s only known Will for a short time, he understands the man well enough to realize that this conversation is going to be painful for everyone involved.

Castiel pulls on his shoes and curls up on the edge of the couch, one eye on the clock on the mantle. Time seems to stretch out, dragging by slowly as his fretfulness increases with each passing minute. The tea does nothing to soothe him and he absently considers making another cup, but the churning in his stomach dissuades him.

Minute after minute slinks by, until finally Castiel hears the crunch of tires on the snow in the driveway, and then it seems that the time has flown by too quickly. He stands, carries his mug into the kitchen, and is waiting at the door when Will knocks. His hand freezes on the doorknob for a moment, until he forces himself to turn it.

When he pulls the door open, Will grins, a wide happy smile that lights up his eyes. It makes Castiel’s heartache. “Hey, you,” he says, pulling Castiel forward for a kiss.

Castiel goes, because he doesn’t know what else to do, and the kiss is gentle, really no more than a peck. Despite that, Castiel stiffens and steps away as soon as he’s able to. Will frowns, dark brown eyes coming up to study Castiel’s face. He obviously reads Castiel’s discomfort because he steps away, his eyes going soft and worried. “What’s wrong?”

Castiel opens his mouth to explain, but no sound will come out so he clears his throat and tries again. “I think you should come in,” he says, voice sounding raspy with nerves. He steps backward to clear the entryway.

Will pauses and for a moment and Castiel isn’t sure he’s going to enter the house. He looks around warily, then steps over the threshold and turns to push the door closed behind him.

“Would you like something to drink? I can make tea, or—”

“I’m fine, Castiel. Why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong?”

Castiel can’t bring himself to meet Will’s eyes, so he just nods and leads him into the living room. Castiel sits on the end of the long pale couch and waits for Will to take a seat. He isn’t surprised when the other man chooses to sit right next to him rather than putting distance between them. He waits in silence for Castiel to compose himself.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Castiel admits softly, looking past Will at the wall of windows. He doesn’t flinch when Will lays one strong calloused hand along his jaw and turns Castiel’s head toward him.

“Just say it,” he says, meeting Castiel’s eyes.

Castiel closes his eyes, unable to stomach the warm concern on Will’s face any longer. He pinches the bridge of his nose and longs to be anywhere but here. Dean’s image floats through his mind and Castiel is suddenly ashamed of himself. He asked Dean for honesty and commitment, but here he is unable to take the very steps he demanded in return. He opens his eyes and forces himself to look directly at Will when he says, “We can’t see each other anymore.”

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, Castiel had been sure he was prepared for Will’s response. He was wrong. Will flinches as if Castiel had physically struck him. Watching the confusion, disbelief, and finally, pain in Will’s eyes is devastating, especially knowing that he’s the cause of it. Will takes a shaky breath, then implores softly, “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Castiel whispers, unable to force any more volume into his voice.

“I don’t understand. What happened? Did I do something wrong?”

Castiel steels himself against the pleading tone. “You didn’t do anything. You’re wonderful and amazing and—”

“And it’s not me, it’s you?” Will barks, the sound echoing in the silence of the house. Castiel can hear Juliet start whimpering at the unfamiliar voice. “That’s a load of bullshit, Castiel. If I’m so wonderful, why are you doing this? We’re good together.”

Castiel’s throat feels like it’s closing, a tightness that is usually the predecessor to tears, but he swallows hard to force them away. “This isn’t what I want.”

Will widens his eyes, a new wave of grief passing over his face. “What happened?” he repeats. “This was what you wanted. You wanted me, I know you did. I just don’t understand what happened.”  He stands up and staggers to the wall of windows and looks out into the night. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” he says again, his voice a raw, broken thing that lances through Castiel like a knife.

“This is just how I feel. I need you to accept that.” Castiel fights to keep his voice steady.

“Things were fine the last time we talked. We were making plans. You were looking forward to seeing my band play. What changed in—” He stops suddenly, spinning around to face Castiel. “Is there someone else?” His tone is both demanding and entreating at the same time.

For just a split second, Castiel thinks about denying it, but he knows it won’t do anything to lessen Will’s distress. He forces himself to meet Will’s eyes and nods slightly.

“Son of a bitch,” Will swears vehemently. “Dean? The friend you were with on Saturday? This is about him, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, Will,” is all Castiel can think to say. “I never meant to hurt you.”  He wants to stand up and walk over and comfort him, but he knows that he has no comfort to offer.

“Yeah, good job at that,” Will snaps harshly. “I’m such a fucking idiot. How didn’t I see this? You talk about him all the time, you know? Him and his kid. I just never thought, dammit—”

“Will.”

Will throws his hands up like he’s warding off a blow. “Don’t. Just don’t, Castiel.” Castiel stands up as Will comes toward him, but the other man just shoves past him. He makes it to the door before Castiel assembles the thought to follow him. “I really thought this was something, you know? You were fucking perfect, everything I wanted. I should have known it was too good to be true. Goodbye, Castiel.” He yanks the door open and steps through. Castiel braces for him to slam it behind him, but instead he pulls it shut gently. The soft snick of the latch seems louder than a gunshot.

Castiel stands there in his empty house, staring at the door while Will’s truck starts and backs out of the driveway. He doesn’t cry, but his throat aches with the effort of keeping the tears at bay. This is what he wants, he tells himself. In order to be with Dean, he had to break things off with Will.

He knows that it’s true, that this is what needed to happen. He knows that being with Dean will be worth this discomfort, but it doesn’t help lessen the empty feeling in his chest any.

He looks around the living room and pulls in a deep, cleansing breath. Shakily, he pulls his phone from his pocket and types out a single text message.

**[Meg] 7:36PM: I think I’m ready for that company.**

* * *

* * *

If asked, Dean would say that he’s a pretty patient person. One thing the relative chaos of his childhood taught him is to wait for good things to happen. That lesson doesn’t mean that, occasionally, he wouldn’t like those good things to happen sooner rather than later.

Three and a half days of near radio silence from Cas is making him edgy. It’s not like they haven’t talked, or texted, at all. Between Dean’s research on good all-season cars and Cas’ messages about upcoming projects at school, they’d texted several times every day and even spoken on the phone twice. It’s not like the weeks after Christmas when they were avoiding each other.

Despite the casual, trivial contact, Dean goes through every day feeling like his skin is on too tight. The uncomfortable pressure in his chest swells each time his phone goes off. They’ve talked about every topic under the sun except the one that Dean is actually interested in.

Castiel still hasn’t mentioned Dean’s front door confession, and Dean isn’t sure whether that’s good or bad. If his revelation had done some irreparable damage to their relationship, surely Cas wouldn’t be chatting with him as if it never happened. On the other hand, maybe he has fallen madly in love with that guy Will and he just can’t figure out a way to let Dean down easy without making it awkward. After all, no matter what happens they’ll still need to interact because of Ben. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Dean sullenly throws the dirty pan in the sink and the loud crash makes Ben jump. “Sorry, bud. It slipped out of my hand,” he apologizes, raising one hand to squeeze the back of his neck. “Why don’t you go get your shoes on so we can head over to the school?”

At the risk of sounding like a teenage girl, Dean admits that the thought of seeing Cas at the school tonight causes butterflies in his stomach. Would Cas say anything? Is he just waiting to see Dean in person? Surely if Cas were going to shoot him down, he wouldn’t be cruel enough to do it at parent night, would he?

Dean pulls his boots on and herds Ben out to the Impala. Headlights cut through the fine flurries of snow that blow off the roof of the garage as he pulls out and closes the garage door behind them. It’s only a few minutes to the school, barely enough time for the big block engine to warm up enough to start making heat so Dean alternates blowing warm air on his hands where they chill against the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

Ben runs ahead of him when they get close to the room. Dean planned their arrival for the perfect time. Not so early that they’re the first ones there, but not so late that they’re the last. By the time Dean reaches the room, Ben is rapidly shedding his coat, hanging it in the tiny cubby before joining the rest of his friends in the back corner with Meg.

It warms Dean’s heart every time he sees Ben playing with the other kids. Although Ben has been around Benny and Andrea’s girls plenty of times, he never really seems to click with other children. That certainly isn’t a problem here. He watches Ben for a few moments until Cas’ co-teacher looks up and catches his gaze. She narrows her eyes slightly, then gives a cocky half-grin that Dean isn’t sure how to interpret.

“Hey,” a friendly voice calls, pulling him away from trying to decipher the confusing Ms. Masters. Dean glances up to see Candace and Jolene making their way across the room. “We weren’t sure you were going to make it,” Jolene says in greeting.

“Wasn’t sure myself, but Ben insisted he wanted to come.”

Candace slips in between Dean and Jolene and says with a chuckle, “You would have missed all the toys.” Despite his attempts to maintain distance between himself and Candace, it’s impossible to miss the lewd insinuation she applies to the word _toys_. Dean mentally rolls his eyes.

“The occupational therapist is here tonight, right?” he says, dragging the conversation back on track.

Jolene nods and leads them to the table. Dean is grateful that she sits in the middle so that no matter what seat Candace takes, either Jolene or the table will be between them. This is getting old really quickly. Despite his desire not to make things awkward, he wonders if he’s going to have to say something to put a stop to her over the top flirting.

“Yeah, Bela Talbot. She’s a bit snooty sometimes, but she knows her stuff. She got Allie to tolerate socks when I was convinced that she’d be wearing sandals for the rest of her life,” Jolene continues once they’re seated. “That’s her with Mr. Novak.”

Dean follows her hand motion to where Cas stands with an attractive woman in a dark gray pantsuit. Dean doesn’t think her attire is very child-friendly, but if Jolene says she’s good, then Dean will reserve judgment.

As the woman laughs at something Cas says, Dean turns away from her to watch Cas. He looks good tonight. Dark brown slacks and a pale green button-down under a tan cardigan.  Dean has always liked his men a little on the wild side, so he never thought he’d have a thing for the sexy teacher type. Cas is definitely disproving that notion.

The woman leans down to pick up a large duffle bag at her feet, but Cas beats her to it. Despite her obvious protest, he hikes it over his shoulder and carries it to the front of the room. “I know you’re a big strong man, but I carry that bag all day, Castiel,” Dean hears her say, her voice like honey with a cultured British accent. Not what Dean was expecting at all.

“So that’s one less time you have to carry it today,” Cas returns with a grin.

They continue to banter as she unloads a number of inexplicable items onto the table at the front of the room. As Cas helps, he looks up to survey the parents who have arrived and his gaze stops on Dean. For a single heartbeat, Dean is sure that Cas will continue on without even acknowledging him and his heart clenches painfully in his chest. But then Cas breaks into a wide grin, eyes sparkling with pleasure and Dean lets himself relax. It can’t be too bad if Cas smiles at him like that.

As captivating as Bela Talbot is, Dean barely hears anything she says. Something about weighted blankets and chew tubes, but Dean figures he can always ask Cas later if any of the stuff she mentioned would be helpful for Ben. Instead, while everyone is watching the presentation, Dean watches Cas.

The teacher stands just to the left of the table where she is holding up item after item, describing its use and answering questions. He looks relaxed. Although getting up and talking in front of a group of people is the thing Dean’s nightmares are made of, Cas seems to be in his element when he’s in the front of the room. It’s in more intimate, personal interactions that he seems to flounder. Cas studies the room as Bela talks, calling on parents and helping her with the names when she doesn’t know them. It’s clear from the way she and Cas trade off that they’ve worked together for a while and are comfortable with each other. When her presentation is over, he thanks her warmly and invites her to stay to socialize.

Although it makes him feel dirty, Dean watches Cas closely all night to see if anyone touches him. Now that he knows what a big deal it is, Dean can’t ignore the idea that he and Cas have a special relationship that none of the other parents share. As he mingles in the room, Cas cleverly sidesteps any attempts to shake hands or other contact. He does it so smoothly that Dean wonders if the mothers are even aware that Cas never touches them.

Part of Dean expects Cas to immediately come over to him, but the other man winds his way through the small groups of parents slowly, starting with the group farthest from where Dean, Jolene, and Candace are standing. He continues to sneak little glances at Cas as he chats with the mothers about the upcoming volunteer opportunities at the school, and by the time Cas is talking to the group just a few feet away, Dean is strung tight as a bow string.

Dean anxiously waits for Cas to finally make his way to their group so that he can have even just a moment of interaction. Being in the same room as the man and not being able to talk to him is killing Dean. Just when Cas starts to part from the group beside them, there is a ruckus in the hallway and the students burst through the doorway with Meg. Dean could scream at her lousy timing.

Whatever Cas had been about to say is lost. Dean bites back a groan and helps Ben into his coat. He tries to linger as long as he can without being obvious, but it’s becoming harder and harder to come up with reasons to stay. When did Dean become such a sap? He’s practically stalking the guy just to have a chance to say a few words to him. It’s not like they’re actually going to talk tonight.

Dean starts to herd Ben toward he door when a firm hand on his shoulder stops him. He turns to find Meg standing beside him. The tiny dark haired woman glowers at him for a moment then sighs. “I’ve got some things to show Ben,” she says. When Dean just looks at her in confusion, she rolls her eyes. “I’ll have Ben with me for a few moments if you have anything you need to say to Mr. Novak,” she elaborates slowly like she’s talking to a small child.

He fights back his shock. The last thing he expected was help from the surly teacher, especially considering that he’s pretty sure she hates him. “Uh, thanks.”

She just shrugs then directs Ben to the back of the room, lingering just long enough to mutter, “If you hurt him again, they’ll never find your body,” before following him. Strangely, the threat puts him on much firmer ground than her kindness did.

Dean wanders across the room to where Cas is saying goodbye to the mother of another one of the kindergartners. He lurks on the other side of the desk, watching Meg and Ben sort through a cabinet in the back of the room until the woman finally leaves. Cas looks up and meets Dean’s gaze.

“Uh, hey, Cas,” Dean stammers. _Real smooth, Winchester,_ he tells himself.

The smile that breaks out takes over Cas’ whole face. “Dean,” he says, and Dean could swear his voice is an octave lower than he remembers. “I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

Dean is in no mood for pleasantries, though. The weight of his declaration bears down on him, making him twitchy. “Meg said she’d keep Ben busy for a while so we had a chance to talk,” he blurts out, making the other man’s eyes widen.

“She did? That’s, uh, good. Yes, we need to talk.”  Gone is the smooth, scholarly professional from earlier. In his place is the awkward, easily flustered man that Dean is rapidly falling for.

“So we should probably talk then,” he prods. “Since she’s going out of her way to keep Ben and all.”

Castiel nods. “We should, but, ah, I’m not sure this is the best time or place.”

 _Dammit_ , Dean thinks. He’s not sure he can survive another day without hashing this out. He thinks quickly. “If you’re not busy, I could come over after I put Ben to bed. About eight thirty? We could have time to talk then. If you want.”

“If it isn’t too much trouble—”

“Nah, my dad will come over while I’m gone,” Dean responds eagerly. “He likes hanging out at my place because he can watch my giant TV. We got him a flat screen for Christmas last year, but its half the size of mine.”

“Well, then, I, yes, I think that would be best. We’ll talk then.”

The anxious, awkward look on his face makes Dean want to hug him. He looks terrified; as if he isn’t the one with all the power here. He has the ability to give Dean everything he wants or yank it all away. All Dean can do is wait to see what he’s decided.

They stare stupidly at each other until Meg appears beside them with Ben. “Okay, boys,” she announces snarkily. “Closing time. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Dean bites back a laugh. “You know that’s about a bar, right?”

Meg just shrugs. “If the shoe fits.” She practically pushes Ben at him, then turns her back.

Dean honors the dismissal and ushers Ben out the door. He makes it through the drive home, Ben’s bath, snack, and bedtime in a fog. He knows the actions happened but he couldn’t describe any of them. Instead, he’s completely preoccupied with what Castiel will say tonight.

Dean vacillates between thinking everything will be fine and being sure that Cas will tell him that he missed his chance, that he waited too long and Cas decided that Dean isn’t worth the risk. Dean can’t even say he would blame him. The constant switching between happiness and despair is wearing on him to the point that he feels a headache developing, so he quickly downs two aspirins before his dad arrives.

Dean glances at his watch for the fourth time. He stands in the doorway of Ben’s bedroom watching him sleep and wonders what it would be like to have Cas here with them. A partner and a parent for Ben. He’s tried so hard to be everything Ben needs, but he can see now that Ben deserves so much more.

The knock on the door saves him from becoming more morose. He lets John in, handing him the remote before he barely gets in the door. “Thanks, dad. I really appreciate this. I won’t be gone too long,” Dean promises, grabbing the Impala keys and heading for the garage.

“Wait just a minute,” John grumbles, stopping him in his tracks. “You even gonna tell me where you’re goin’, boy?”

Dean sighs but turns back to face his father. “To see Cas.”

“That teacher guy? You two a thing now?” John asks, confusion evident.

“Not yet,” Dean admits reluctantly.

“Yet? So it's headed that way?”

Dean tries not to shift from foot to foot in frustration. “Yeah, dad. Maybe.”  He tries to not to let his exasperation bleed into his voice when he adds, “If I can ever get over there to talk to him.”

John huffs out a laugh and collapses onto the couch. “Okay, okay. No need to get bitchy. Go on, go sweep your man off his feet, or whatever. I’m missin’ the end of _Dirty_ _Harry_.”

Dean bites back a groan and escapes through the garage door. If that’s what a heart-to-heart with John Winchester looks like, he’s fairly glad he missed them growing up.

The trip to Cas’ house only takes a few minutes, but it feels like hours with the way Dean’s heart is threatening to beat out of his chest. Realistically, if Cas isn’t interested in pursuing a relationship, it won’t be the end of the world. Dean has survived this long by himself and he and Ben do just fine, but he wants this so badly it almost hurts. For the first time since Ash, he feels like he’s not just settling for a pretty face.

Honestly, he liked Lisa but if it hadn’t been for Ben their relationship would have burned out way earlier than it did. He was just looking for someone to fill the hole that Ash had left in his life and Lisa was as good as anyone. Though it makes him feel like an asshole, he was never really interested in more than hanging out and sex with Lisa. She was fun, good looking, and excellent in bed. He hadn’t really needed anything more. 

This thing with Cas, though, feels different. It feels more like planning for the future. He wants to know Cas, to find out what makes him tick, and how he thinks about the world. Dean wants to curl up on the couch with him and watch movies, take Ben to the park, and just _be_. He can’t remember ever wanting that with anyone but Ash.

It doesn’t hurt that Cas is funny and adorable and hot as hell. When he gives Dean that squinty, cocked-head look, like he has no idea what Dean is talking about, it makes Dean want to just grab him and kiss him stupid. It feels like Dean has been waiting forever just to kiss the man and that has definitely never happened before. Dean has never been one for delayed gratification.

He pulls into the driveway and shuts off the car. The light above the front door is on, but Dean can’t quite will himself to get out. It feels silly to put this much stock in a single conversation with one person, but it’s like he’s standing on a precipice and walking through that door has the power to change his entire life. It feels huge and more than a little overwhelming.

He’s still sitting there, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to leave dents, when the front door opens and there is Cas framed in the doorway. He looks worried, like he’s not sure why Dean is still sitting in the car, and it spurs Dean to action. He takes a deep breath and climbs out, wincing at the way the sound of the door slamming echoes in the quiet neighborhood.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says and he’s smiling, so that must be good, right?

“Hey, Cas,” Dean offers in greeting, following him into the big house. Juliet greets him right inside the door, her entire body gyrating.

“I can put her outside if she bothers you.”

Dean just shrugs and drops to the ground to give her a good petting and the dog dances around in delight. “She’s fine. I like dogs. Been thinking about getting one, but I’m not sure how it would cope with being cooped up all day while I’m at work. Missouri, that’s our neighbor that watches Ben, said she’d run it, but she’s not gettin’ around too good lately and I don’t want it to be too much for her.”  Dean can tell that he’s rambling but he can’t seem to get his mouth to stop.

When he finally looks up, Cas is watching him curiously. “You can get a dog door, Dean. It isn’t too hard to install,” he says seriously; as if Dean drove over here in the middle of the night to talk about dogs.

Dean climbs to his feet with a soft laugh and brushes the dog hair off his jeans. “Uh, thanks, Cas. I’ll have to look into it.”

Cas just continues to stare until Dean clears his throat uncomfortably. “Yes, well, would you like a drink?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Cas nods like he was expecting Dean’s answer and leads them into the living room. The large wall of windows at the back of the house reflect the indoor lights back at them, making it look like they’re facing a giant mirror.

Dean lets out a low whistle. “Wow, this is quite the place, man. There used to be an old seventies split level here.”

“Excuse me?”

“A split? Like the Brady Bunch? Anyway, that’s what was on this lot before it burnt down,” Dean explains. He wanders the living room as he talks, finally settling into the over-stuffed recliner by the fireplace.

“Oh, yes,” Cas acknowledges. “The house way a gift from my mother, so I never saw the lot.”

Dean blinks, eyebrows shooting up. “Your mom bought you a freaking house as a gift? Holy shit, my old man needs to step up his game.”

Cas laughs softly and takes a seat on the end of the couch, the dog curling up at his feet. “I love my mother very much, but she’s always been better at grand gestures. I suppose it’s better than the lack of gestures of any kind my father engaged in before he passed.”

Dean figures he should offer some kind of condolences on that, but he doesn’t answer. He’s too busy studying Cas, who looks so different from the put-together guy he normally presents. He’s changed into soft gray lounge pants with bare feet and a faded t-shirt for an obscure alternative band from the early nineties. Dean is pretty sure this is the most relaxed he has ever seen the man. The tattoos on his wrists and triceps are bare and Cas makes no attempt to cover them. Dean takes a moment to think about the other ink that is hiding under that shirt and his mouth goes dry.

They sit like that for several minutes, just watching each other in silence. It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t. Dean is pretty sure he could sit here all night, just drinking in every nuance. Time feels like it slows down as they take in their fill of each other until finally Cas blinks and swallows.

“Dean.”

“Cas.”

“No, let me go first,” Cas insists, leaning forward slightly. His gaze is intense, bright blue eyes seeming to crackle with some kind of internal energy that tinges the air around them with power.  Dean nods slightly and he continues. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“Okay,” Dean says hesitantly, pulling in a deep breath through his nose and holding it.

“Making connections with people isn’t something that comes easily to me, Dean. It isn’t that I don’t like people, I just don’t ‘click’ the way most people do,” he says, making little air quotes to add emphasis. Dean finds it adorable, but he just nods seriously and motions for Cas to continue. “From the moment we met, no, even before we officially met, I felt like I knew you, like I was drawn to you. It sounds cliché, like something out of a romantic comedy, but it’s the truth. I felt comfortable with you in a way that I don’t experience with many people. I guess that’s why what happened at Christmas hit me so hard.”

Dean blanches. “Cas, I know—”

Cas hold up one hand stop him. “Don’t. You’ve apologized and I’ve accepted. I bring it up only so that you understand where I’m coming from. This isn’t easy for me, Dean, letting someone in.”

Dean nods as encouragingly as he can and braces himself.

“I want to know what this means, this spark between us. I want to understand why, when my body rebels at the thought of even a simple handshake, it seems to reach out for you, to crave touching you.”

“So,” Dean says gently, a soft glow of hope finally igniting in his chest at Cas’ words.

“So,” Cas echoes, pausing to take a shaky breath, “I want to try this, to try being with you, and see what happens. If that’s still what you want.”

Dean can barely process the words beyond the rushing of blood in his ears. “Uh, yeah, definitely. I mean, that’s definitely what I want.” He closes his eyes and squeezes his leg sharply to ensure he isn’t dreaming. When he opens them Cas is still sitting across from him with an expectant expression so this must really be happening. “What about Will?” he asks, sure that there must be a catch.

“I broke up with Will Monday night.”

Wait. What? “Monday night?” Dean gasps, practically coming out of his seat. “Dude, you’ve known since Monday that you were going to say yes and you let me suffer? What the hell, man?”

Cas gives him a pensive look. “I wanted to have time to discuss this in person,” he explains slowly; as though Dean hasn’t been driving himself crazy with worry for the past three days.

“So pick up the phone and ask me to come over! I was going out of my mind thinking that you were gonna tell me to take a hike. Jesus, man.”

Cas frowns, eyebrows drawing together into a scowl. “It wasn’t my intention to cause you distress, Dean.”

Dean huffs a soft laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re really somethin’ else, man.” He pulls in another restrained breath and motions toward the couch with one hand. “Can I come over there?” At Cas’ nod, he crosses the room and gingerly sits on the couch next to him. It feels good. It feels right, being this close to Cas again, and the proximity settles the last vestiges of anxiety that were left.

Cas slides one hand along the couch cushion and winds his fingers through Deans. He stares at their clasped hands for a long time before raising his eyes to Dean’s face again. “Dean? What about Ash?” he asks softly, hesitant to speak the question out loud.

Dean closes his hand, squeezing Cas’ fingers gently in reassurance. “Ash isn’t what I need,” he says, holding Cas’ gaze and willing him to see the truth in his words. “He was the center of my universe for so long that I guess I never noticed when the universe shifted. I’m done living in the past. He’s family, and I know that’s not gonna be easy on you, knowing what we had, but I promise you, it’s in the past. I wanna make a future for me and Ben. I don’t know what’s gonna happen with me and you, but when I look into that future I really wanna see you there. If you’ll give me a chance, I really want to try to make that happen.”

Cas smiles, his eyes lighting up, and it’s a look that Dean wants to keep on Cas’ face forever. It’s like the sun on a rainy day and fireworks on the Fourth of July all rolled into one. “I want that too,” he says, squeezing Dean’s hand back.

The desire to kiss Cas is so strong that Dean is leaning forward before he even registers that he intended to move, but he pulls up at the way Cas’ eyes go wide. “Ah, I don’t wanna be too forward, but, man, it feels like I’ve been waitin’ years to kiss you.”

Cas licks his lips and Dean gets just a glimpse of the wonder in Cas’ eyes before the other man surges forward. His eyelids flutter closed and it’s perfect, the way their mouths slide together in a warm, wet press. Cas’ lips are soft and responsive against his and Dean does nothing to silence the groan that bubbles up. He hadn’t expected Cas to be the initiator, but damn if he’s complaining.

Pulling his hand out of Dean’s, Cas shifts forward until he’s pressed against Dean’s chest, twisting so that he can deepen the kiss. He nibbles along Dean’s lower lip, taking him apart with nothing more than hot breath against the seam of his mouth. Dean is struggling to keep up. Cas runs his hands up Dean’s arms and over his shoulders until they’re pressed warm against Dean’s neck and Dean loses himself in the sensations.

He can’t remember ever being kissed like this, with such single-minded focus that it punches the breath right out of him. There’s no rush to the finish line, no endgame in sight, just a slow, thorough examination that leaves him shaking even though they haven’t moved past closed mouths and tentative touches.

After what feels like forever, but not nearly enough time, Cas pulls back. When Dean opens his eyes, Cas is staring at him wide eyed. His hands slip back down Dean’s shoulders and trail along his arms until he twines his fingers with Dean’s once again. “Was that okay?” he asks, voice nothing more than a sensual rasp.

Dean blinks and takes a few shallow breaths to steady himself. The dull thrum of arousal dances over his nerve endings and he can’t recall the last time he was this turned on. “Wow, um, more than okay, Cas. Ten out of ten,” he murmurs, letting the corners of his mouth lift into a grin. “We are definitely doing that again. Soon.”

“But not tonight?”

Dean chuckles. “Not tonight. I gotta get home before my dad sends out a search party and I wanna do this right. I wanna take you out on a date and hold your hand in the car and kiss you goodnight at the door.”

“I think I would like that.”

“Good,” Dean says, embracing the giddy feeling in his chest. “Friday?”

“Friday.”

Dean’s pretty sure he’s smiling like an idiot, but he doesn’t care. “It’s a date,” he says. He lingers for another moment, battling the desire to lean forward and taste Cas again before he forces himself to stand. He pulls Cas up with him and leads him to the door, Juliet on their heels.

“I’ll text you,” he says as Cas pulls the door open.

“Okay.”

Unable to deny himself, he reaches out and cups Cas’ jaw, tugging the man forward. Cas closes his eyes, clearly expecting another kiss, but Dean pulls back at the last moment and presses his lips to the tip of Cas’ nose. It’s the way he kisses Ben sometimes and Cas’ eyes fly open with a pleased grin. “You’re ridiculous,” he accuses.

Dean smirks. “And you like it.”

“I do,” Cas concedes, rolling his eyes. “I really do.”

“Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Cas is still standing in the doorway when Dean slides behind the wheel and starts the car. He backs down the driveway and stops once he’s on the road, raising his hand in another farewell.  Cas returns it, then closes the door. Grinning like an idiot, Dean gives a dramatic fist pump and cranks the radio up. He sings along at the top of his lungs the entire way home.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, we have a first date, and maybe even a little something that makes that E rating more applicable. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Unfortunately, not everything is roses and sunshine for our boys and they have to deal with some ugliness. Trigger warning for homophobic slurs in the second part.

He should be nervous or at least that’s what he tells himself. Castiel glances up at the clock over the fireplace and takes another sip of his tea. Dean will be picking him up in less than fifteen minutes and he expected to be sick with anxiety over their date. Instead, he’s relaxing with a cup of tea, having taken significantly less time than he expected to choose his clothes. He hopes that the soft gray sweater Meg gave him for Christmas paired with a white button-down and his favorite blue jeans aren't too casual for the restaurant Dean picked.

Castiel wanders into the kitchen to rinse his mug before slipping on his black Oxfords. Juliet whines at his feet and he’s busy refilling her food and water when he hears the Impala in the driveway.

He reaches the door just as Dean knocks. If Meg were here, he’s sure she would tell him not to open it immediately so that he doesn’t look too eager, but she isn’t, so he pulls the door open almost before the echo of the last knock fades. Dean stands on the front stoop, one hand behind his back.

Castiel is glad that he’s not underdressed because Dean is wearing jeans as well. His fingers itch to fiddle with the buttons of the fitted gray vest Dean wears over his indigo button-down. He imagines unfastening it so he can push the material backward over Dean’s shoulders.  It isn’t until Dean clears his throat with a soft chuckle that Castiel realizes he’s staring.

When he raises his eyes to Dean’s face, the other man just quirks one eyebrow. “Hey, Cas,” he murmurs, his eyes alight with humor and lips twitching as if he knows exactly what Castiel was just thinking.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel flushes red, eyes darting away until movement draws his gaze back.

Dean has extended his arm to show what he was holding behind his black wool peacoat; a dried bouquet of pale purple flowers mixed with baby’s breath. Castiel’s eyes dart to his face. “You brought me flowers?” he mutters breathlessly.

It is Dean that blushes now, ducking his head. “You, ah, I remembered you said you liked them and Missouri mentioned this afternoon she had some flowers dried from her garden this summer and I figured you . . .” he trails off uneasily.

Castiel reaches for the bouquet with a pleased smile. “I love them, Dean. Thank you,” he responds honestly. He carries them into the kitchen and pulls down a glass vase out of the cupboard to set them in. “I didn’t realize I was going to be wooed so effectively,” he teases.

Dean flushes even darker, reaching up to tug at his collar uncomfortably. “You deserve to have things that make you happy, Cas,” he says earnestly, his eyes following Castiel’s every move. Then he groans, running his hand down over his face. “Sammy would be laughin’ his ass off if he could see me, actin’ like a girl with a crush.

Castiel stops arranging the flowers and narrows his eyes reproachfully. “Why is it being a girl do something nice for someone else? That’s ridiculous, Dean. Men can enjoy spreading happiness, too. It’s a major part of your personality; to do things for other people. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to go out with you.” He turns away and pushes the last of the dried, crinkly blossoms into the vase before setting it on the shelf. When he turns back around, Dean is watching him appraisingly.

“Thanks, Cas,” he says with a smile, just a twitch of his lips, but his eyes reflect his sincerity.

The drive to the restaurant takes them past the Roadhouse to cross the Kansas River. “I thought about takin’ you to the Roadhouse, but I didn’t want to subject you to my family again so soon,” Dean says as they get on the highway.

Castiel tilts his head, staring out the windshield at the lights of the city ahead of them. “I like your family."

Dean flicks a glance toward him, then back at the road. “Everyone except Ash.”

There’s a pause while Castiel considers the ways to respond to that. Finally, he settles on agreeing dryly, “Ok, yes, I could have done without Ash.”

Dean chuckles softly and slides his hand across the bench seat to brush his knuckles lightly against the back of Castiel’s hand. The touch sends a warm current pulsing through him. He turns his hand over and lets his fingers tangle with Dean’s, only letting go when they pull into the lot next to the restaurant.

Dean doesn’t try to hold his hand again as they take the short walk to the front door, so Castiel pushes them into his coat pockets. He isn’t sure how Dean feels about affection in public so he’s comfortable following Dean’s lead. Dean holds the door for him and rests one hand against the small of his back while they follow the hostess to their table, so he must not be too concerned.

Their waitress is a bubbly young woman who is probably a student at the nearby college. “Welcome to 715,” she greets them with a wide smile, sliding menus onto the table in front of them. “Can I get you some drinks while you decide? The wine list is on the back.”

Castiel catches the way Dean’s eyes dart to him and then away. “You can have wine if you want,” he offers.

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll just have a Coke.”

After she leaves with their drink orders, it only takes Castiel a few moments to decide on the crab cappelletti. He waits patiently while Dean looks over the menu. He turns the pages slowly, his brows scrunched together as he attempts to sound out the Italian words under his breath. Castiel hides a grin behind his hand because it is nearly the cutest thing he’s ever seen and he doesn’t think Dean will appreciate the sentiment.

Finally, Dean nods slightly to himself and pushes the menu away before leaning back a little bit in his chair. The dim overhead lights bathe half his face in soft shadows and for just a moment Castiel can’t believe he’s actually here, on a date with this man. Then Dean smiles shyly and the spell is broken.

“You ready for tomorrow?” Dean asks, eyes trained on Castiel’s face.

“I have the list of cars you sent me and I’ve picked out several that I think I would like to look at. Several of the dealerships have more than one car, so I’ve created a plan that will allow us to see all of the kinds of cars while only visiting three different car lots.”

Dean chuckles affectionately. “Seriously, dude? That’s, um . . .” he trails off at Castiel’s look of consternation.

“I thought it was efficient,” Castiel says with a small pout. Dean was being nice enough to help him, so he didn’t want to monopolize his entire Saturday.

“It is, man, it is. I’m just used to car shopping with Sammy. When Jess decided she wanted a new Forester, he dragged me to every lot in Lawrence even though they all carried the same damn car.”

The arrival of their waitress cuts the conversation off short and it takes a few minutes to sort out their orders. Dean blushes when he stumbles over the Italian, but Castiel just smiles reassuringly. He takes a sip of his soda before he continues.  “Just gotta get the new trim put on and you’ll be ready to take the Camaro home. I can’t believe you don’t wanna see her until she’s done.”

Castiel shrugs. “Isn’t that how it’s done on the makeover shows you’ve made me watch?”

Dean chuckles. “This ain’t no _Overhaulin’_ , man. No Chip Foose, just little ol’ me.”

“I think I’ll like it just the same.” Dean looks like he wants to argue, but Castiel just holds his gaze. It frustrates him how much Dean puts himself and his abilities down. When Dean wisely doesn’t respond, Castiel continues, “I’m surprised you haven’t bought a second vehicle yourself so you don’t have to drive the Impala in the snow.”

Dean shrugs. “I’d love to. Keepin’ her in the garage and washin’ the salt off every week helps, but I hate drivin’ her with the gravel on the road. I just never seem to get enough saved up for another car. Bobby said I could pick out a junker to drive in the winter, but I’d still have to pay insurance and shit. Maybe next year.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. With the house paid off, his salary is more than enough to live on comfortably. He knows that Dean goes to work before Ben leaves for school in the morning and he often works late enough that they miss the parent night. The thought of Dean working so hard to support them and still not being able to buy the things he needs makes Castiel sad.

Ignorant to Castiel’s thoughts, Dean changes the subject just as the waitress delivers their meals. “Man, I gotta tell you, that video idea of yours has been a lifesaver. Ben puts on one of my t-shirts and he conks right out to the video of me playin’.  Years of this and I can’t believe I never thought of that before.”

“I’m glad it worked. You shouldn’t be too hard on yourself, though. Sometimes it’s easier to see a solution when you’re not in the midst of it.”

Dean forks a bite of his lasagna into his mouth and chews before answering. “Well, it was genius. Bobby and Ellen are gonna keep him tomorrow so we can get the car shopping done, too.”

“Oh, Dean, that’s too long for him to be away from you,” Castiel responds, setting his fork down. The thought of Dean restricting his time with his son for Castiel doesn’t sit right with him. Maybe it’s the memories of how little time his own father spent with him, always too busy with his own things to do. “We should take him along with us.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you crazy? Ben’s gonna be a handful on a trip like that.”

“Not if we plan it correctly. You forget, Dean, I’m used to spending time with a classroom of children like Ben.”

“I don’t know, man.”

Castiel clears his throat and tries again. “Dean, you and Ben are a package deal. If you are serious about us, about making a relationship between us work, then I am dating Ben just as much as I’m dating you. Ben is a central part of your life and if you’re going to be part of my life, then Ben should be part of our lives together.”

Dean closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them, Castiel is a little surprised to see tears swimming at the edges. “Thanks, man. I mean, I know you and Ben get along, but it just means a lot to me to know that you’re thinkin’ about him.”

Castiel frowns. “Of course, Dean. Why wouldn’t I?”

Dean sniffs lightly and blinks away the wetness. “Not everyone does, you know. Ben is just this annoying thing they have to put up with.”

“Not to me. I care about Ben very much, maybe more than I should given that I’m only his teacher.”

“I been meanin’ to ask you about that. I know you said there aren’t any rules against this, us datin’ even though you’re Ben’s teacher, but what should we tell Ben? I’m not sayin’ that I think we aren’t gonna work out, or whatever, but I can’t risk him getting’ hurt.”

Castiel slides his hand across the table to take Dean’s. “I understand, Dean. It’s okay. Ben is already comfortable with us being friends and I think around him we should keep it that way for now, at least. There will always be time to tell him that our relationship has changed in the future.”

Dean heaves a sigh. “Okay, yeah. That makes sense.”

Castiel gives Dean’s hand a slight squeeze before pulling away. They finish their meals in companionable silence and even though Castiel is thoroughly stuffed, he lets Dean talk him into ordering a rich peppermint hot chocolate and panna cotta for dessert. The waitress brings two spoons and winks when she sets the dessert between them. Dean dips his spoon into the creamy dessert and holds it out, his eyes flicking from the tip of the spoon to Castiel’s lips before raising to meet his eyes.

A slow coil of warmth settles in his stomach as he leans forward slowly, never breaking the eye contact. He slips his tongue out to lick at the creamy custard slowly, curling his tongue into the bowl of the spoon to get every remnant.  From the look in Dean’s eyes, he’s not the only one breathing a little heavier after that display. Dean takes another scoop of the dessert and brings it to his own mouth, sliding his tongue along the spoon obscenely before flicking his eyes back down to Castiel’s lips again.

They continue that way, feeding each other small licks of the custard between sips of smooth cocoa until Dean finally leans forward with the last bite. He lets Castiel suck it off of the spoon and they both heave a small sigh of disappointment when he sets the utensil on the empty plate. Neither seems particularly interested in breaking the eye contact, so they just continue watching each other, the air between them becoming heavier and heavier with expectation until a small movement to their right finally breaks the tension.

“I, ah, just wanted to give you guys the bill,” the waitress stammers, sliding the leather portfolio onto the table. “Do you, ah, would you guys like anything else?”

Castiel blinks slowly, still caught in the magic of Dean’s gaze, and looks up at the flustered young woman. Thankfully, Dean is more in control of his faculties because he just gives the girl a charming grin and slides his card into the little binder before handing it back to her. “I think we’re good, darlin’,” he says with a wink. Then to Castiel, “I’m going to use the restroom before we get goin’.”

Both Dean and the girl are gone before Castiel can formulate a response. He can’t recall ever getting that carried away in public before and heat floods his face as he scans the room to see who else might have seen. Before Dean can return, the waitress arrives and places the bill on the table in front of Dean’s chair. She lingers for a moment as if she wants to say something, so Castiel looks up at her expectantly.

“I, ah, this is seriously inappropriate and I really hope you don’t get me fired,” she says in a rush, playing with the corners of her black apron nervously, “but I just gotta tell you . . . you guys are really hot. If this is a first date, ‘cause it kinda looks like a first date, you should really hit that.”

Castiel blinks and doesn’t respond for long enough that the girl starts to look worried that she offended him. Finally, he laughs, a deep chuckle that immediately puts her at ease. “It is our first date,” he tells her, “and you know what? I think you’re right.”

She grins and bounces away, passing Dean on his way back to the table, and Castiel sees her give him a wink and a thumbs up. Dean is still shaking his head when he slides into his chair. “What was that all about?”

Castiel shrugs innocently. “I guess she’s hoping for a big tip.”

During the ride home, Dean turns the radio on and fiddles with the tuner, so the conversation inevitably turns to music. When he pulls the big black car into the driveway, Castiel feels a pang of disappointment. He doesn’t want the evening to end.

“I had a really good time tonight, Dean,” he says, turning toward Dean and reaching out to rest his hand on the other man’s thigh.

Dean nods slowly then licks his lips. “Yeah, me too. I’m glad we finally got here.”

Castiel watches Dean’s tongue glide along the seam of his lips and unbuckles his seatbelt. The air inside the car is heavy, expectant, as he slides across the leather. “It’s too cold outside to kiss me at the door,” he whispers, eyes not leaving Dean’s mouth as he leans forward eagerly.

He doesn’t have to wait long because Dean pops his seatbelt with a metallic click that echoes in the stillness before plunging forward. His hands come up to grip the sides of Castiel’s face and their lips meet in a kiss that is nothing like their last. Where that one held the pleasant warmth of spring day, this is an inferno that burns Castiel’s breath away.

Dean wastes no time testing the boundaries with his tongue and Castiel opens to him willingly, warmth and wetness invading him and sending electricity singing along every nerve. He sucks Dean’s tongue into his mouth, drunk on the little groans that Dean is making low in his throat as he presses Castiel backward until he’s half reclining on the front seat.

Castiel slides his hands up under Dean’s coat, gripping the fabric at the back of his vest so he can tug him closer. Dean takes the hint and twists so that he’s laying between Castiel’s splayed legs, and Castiel moans with pleasure when Dean’s body finally, finally, grinds against him. He can feel that Dean is just as hard as he is.

A low growl is torn out of Dean as he rolls his hips again, driving his hard cock against Castiel’s erection, and Castiel’s eyes roll back in his head at the sensation. He drives his hips up as Dean tears himself away from his mouth to leave a trail of wet, warm kisses across his jaw to his neck. The moist pressure tells him that Dean is sucking a mark in the little space behind his ear, but Castiel can’t find it in himself to care.  

Dean raises up again and Castiel slides one hand up to cup the back of his head so he can pull him down into another kiss, but Dean leans forward instead, resting his forehead against Castiel’s. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants, breath hot bursts against Castiel’s mouth.

“Come inside with me,” Castiel whimpers and Dean’s eyes snap open. From this close, mere centimeters away, Castiel can see small flecks, like galaxies, in Dean’s eyes, even in the faint light from the headlights reflecting off the house.

Dean’s entire body shudders. “I can’t, Cas. We can’t,” he breathes.

“Why not?” Castiel asks with a pout, rolling his hips up again to remind Dean that they’re both here, hard and willing. It’s been so long, so long since he’s been touched like this and he’s practically crazy for it.

Dean closes his eyes again and Castiel has the distinct impression that he’s reciting some kind of mantra to calm himself down. Without opening his eyes, forehead pressed lightly against Castiel, and his erection still throbbing insistently between Castiel’s legs, he answers, “I wanna do this right, Cas. I don’t want to do what I’ve always done before. You feel so fucking good and it would be so easy to go inside with you and just lose myself in that, but I don’t wanna be that guy anymore.  Do you know how many people I’ve had sex with? Dozens, man, I don’t even remember most of their names. Do you know how many I knew for more than a week before I had sex with them?”

His eyelids flutter open and he’s staring into Castiel’s eyes again. “Two, Cas. Just two, and one of them wasn’t Ben’s mom. Sex is easy, but it burns out and I don’t want that to happen with us. I want this to be about more than gettin’ off.”

Castiel swallows hard and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. “I want more than that too, Dean.”

Dean nods, making their noses bump, and he smiles. “I feel like I’ve been waitin’ years for you. I can wait a little while longer.”

They both groan with the effort of extricating themselves and when Castiel feels Dean’s hard dick slide against his own one more time as he shifts away, he almost tells Dean he doesn’t care. Maybe Dean can wait, but that doesn’t mean he can. Instead, he takes a deep breath in through his nose and breathes out through his mouth to calm himself. His heart beats an unsteady rhythm against his ribs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dean,” Castiel says, his voice nowhere near as steady as he would like.

Dean nods, a small smile curving his lips. “Goodnight, Cas.”

Castiel lets himself out of the car and the walk through the cold night air to his front door is less than comfortable with the tightness of his pants. Dean waits until he lets himself in and closes the door behind him before he backs out of the driveway. Physically exhausted, but running on a wave of energy that thrums through his blood stream, Castiel climbs the stairs to his room. Although Juliet tries to weave her way in front of him, he gently nudges her back into the hallway before he closes the door.

It’s not quite ten o’clock, but Dean will be picking him up early in the morning, so he stumbles through his bedtime routine as best he can. By the time he steps out of his jeans, his erection shows no signs of waning, and just the brush of fabric against it is tantalizing. He resolutely pulls his pajama bottoms on anyway and climbs into bed. He lies on his side and does his best to ignore the insistent throbbing.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity has passed, he rolls onto his back. He’s never going to get to sleep this way. He pushes to covers down to his knees and hooks his thumbs under the waistband. Pulling up to clear his still hard cock, he pushes them down to his thighs, then lets out a soft, pleased sigh when he finally wraps his hand around his length.

It’s not as if Castiel doesn’t masturbate. After all, he’s been alone for over two years and since casual hookups don’t appeal to him, two years without sex is enough to drive a man to just about any lengths. He hasn’t found pornography to be enticing, but the internet has served his needs in other ways. Through a variety of discreet online sellers, he’s managed to accumulate a small collection of toys that keep him physically, if not emotionally, satisfied.

He doesn’t reach into his nightstand drawer tonight, though. Instead, he raises his hand to lick his palm a few times before giving in to the pleasure. He gives himself a few firm strokes before bringing his other hand up to roll one nipple between his fingers, not bothering to smother his moan. For the past four months, he has determinedly avoided thinking about Dean when he touches himself, whether in bed or in the shower, but tonight he decides that it’s okay, that Dean wouldn’t mind.

Eyelids fluttering closed, he lets himself imagine that Dean is here with him, that Dean’s hands are on him, caressing him. He runs just his fingertips up his length, teasing the nerves just below the head of his cock, before slowly dragging them back down again. Another three licks to his palm to get himself good and wet, and he lets himself imagine that it is Dean’s mouth wrapped around him instead of just his hand. He teases the slit, imagining Dean’s tongue flicking against him, his breath coming in rapid pants.

His hand moves faster, saliva and pre-come slicking the way and memories of Dean’s taste, the wet heat of his mouth, and the intoxicating press of his cock urging him on. Not able to take it any longer, he slips his other hand below his balls and teases his rim, pressing just the tip of one finger inside. The combination of sensations along with his fantasy of Dean sends him rocketing over of the edge, muscles seizing as he paints his stomach with his release, Dean’s name on his lips. 

* * *

* * *

“Do you think he’ll get a green car?”

Dean glances in the rearview mirror and asks himself for the hundredth time why he let Cas talk him into this. Ben has been chattering non-stop since Dean picked him up from Ellen’s and Dean is on his third cup of coffee. It took him over an hour to fall asleep last night with the raging erection that he adamantly refused to take care of. If he told Cas he could wait, he damn well was going to wait.

Of course, despite his good intentions, his resolve only lasted until his morning shower. Although it’s not unusual to wake up with a hard-on, the unresolved tension from last night made it nearly impossible to ignore. Just one swipe with a soapy hand and he cracked, ruthlessly stroking himself until he came with a shout that made him glad Ben wasn’t in the house.

The extra five minutes in the shower, plus enough time to brew travel mugs of both coffee and tea, made him later getting to Ben than he’d planned. Of course, nothing ever goes as intended with Ben, so a mad search of the house for a misplaced Benson meant that Dean had to send Cas a text explaining that they would be twenty minutes late picking him up.

“Will it be a model year 2015 or will he buy a used car? What will the gas mileage be?” Ben asks, ignoring the fact that Dean hasn’t answered any of his other questions.

Dean pulls into the driveway and Cas opens the front door before Dean can even put the car in park. Unlike Dean, he looks refreshed like he slept like a baby, with none of his usual morning grumpiness. Dean hates him a little bit.

“Mornin’, Cas,” he says in greeting, passing him the travel mug of tea. Cas takes a sip and smiles gratefully, dropping a messenger bag onto the seat between them.

“Mr. Novak, do you think you’ll buy a blue car? Will it have power windows? Daddy’s car doesn’t have power windows and Uncle Sam says it’s because daddy is a Luddite, but I don’t know what that is and Uncle Sam just laughed when I asked,” Ben rambles from the backseat. Cas chuckles and raises one eyebrow.

“He’s a little excited,” Dean explains unnecessarily. “I swear Ellen gave him a cup of coffee before I got there ‘cause his mouth hasn’t stopped.”

Cas turns around in his seat to look at Ben. “Good morning, Benjamin. I’m not exactly sure what kind of car I’m buying, but I’m sure you and your father will help me pick out the best one.”

Dean backs out of the driveway and heads downtown toward the business district where most of the car lots are located. He motions toward the messenger bag. “Got your list?” he asks with a grin. “Is it color-coded?”

Cas pulls out a folded piece of paper and waves it at him, showing that sure enough, the different dealerships and models of cars are highlighted in different colors. “Not a word,” he mutters, and Dean bites the inside of his cheek.

As he drives, Cas reaches into the bag again and pulls out an index card and a small sheet of stickers of planets. Loosening his seatbelt slightly, he twists in his seat so that he can talk to Ben.

An inappropriate image of Cas laying sprawled sideways across the seat less than twelve hours ago flashes through Dean’s mind, making him half hard. He wills it away with the nastiest things he can think of, Bobby in a bikini topping the list. By the time he forces himself back to attention, Cas is explaining the card to Ben.

“We are going to look at five cars today, Ben. I really need your help so that I make sure I get the right one, okay? Every time we look at a car and you make good choices and listen to what your father or I ask you do, I will give you a sticker. Once you have all five stickers, I have a surprise for you.”

“What’s the surprise?” Ben asks excitedly.

“You have to wait and see, Ben,” Cas responds gently. “But if you help me find the right car before you get all five stickers, you win anyway. You get all the stickers and you get the surprise right then. Do you think you can do that?”

“I will, Mr. Novak. I’ll be the best at finding the right car!”

Cas is grinning when he turns back around in the seat, but he falters when he sees the scowl on Dean’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dean insists, turning on the radio to stop more questions. Cas always has the best ideas. Dean has been worrying about taking Ben on this trip, but he didn’t do anything about it, just hoped it turned out okay. Cas, on the other hand, planned and brought stickers and took control of the situation before anything got out of hand. He made it into a game that would ensure Ben would be on his best behavior. He’s Ben’s father, but he feels like he’ll never be as good at it as Cas is.

He’s startled by Cas’ hand on his arm. “Tell me what’s wrong, Dean. If you clench your jaw any tighter, you’re going to sprain something.”

Dean’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, but Ben has his headphones on, happily listening to the astronomy audio books Cas gave him for Christmas. Cas must have helped him set it up while Dean was sulking. Just another thing Cas thought of.

“I shoulda thought of something to keep Ben busy,” he admits gruffly, eyes pinned to the road in front of him to avoid meeting Cas’ eyes.

“You’re too hard on yourself, Dean. You can’t think of everything.”

“But I should. Ben is my responsibility and—”

“And you’re still learning. It’s not a competition, Dean. I meant what I said last night. We’re in this together, for as long as we’re together, but I have no interest in replacing you with Ben. You’re his father and you always will be. That’s something I can never give him. The rest of this is just tricks I’ve learned along the way. You’re his family.”

Dean glances over and sees the sincerity in Cas’ eyes. He heaves a sigh. “Sometimes I feel like I’m runnin’ a step behind.”

“Not with me.”

Dean smiles, lips quirking up. “So what’s the surprise?”

Cas just rolls his eyes. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

The first dealership is a bust. It’s a small lot without a big selection other than the two cars Dean suggested he check out, an Audi and a Tahoe. Though the saleswoman is friendly, Cas doesn’t really care for either of the cars on the list, one too small and the other too big. “Okay, Goldilocks,” Dean teases, “on to the next lot.”

They bundle Ben back into the car with his treasure trove of car pamphlets and price sheets. Mindy, their saleswoman, loaded him down with any of the brochures that caught his eye and patiently answered every one of his questions as if he were the customer. It made Dean want to buy a car from her just on principal.

While Dean drives to the next lot, Cas puts two stickers on Ben’s index card. There’s a short disagreement over whether one of them is Pluto or the moon, but everything is sorted out by the time they pull up in front of the building.

“Meg was thinking about getting a Mazda,” Cas says as they get out of the car. He takes Ben’s hand as they walk toward the showroom.

“She ended up with a BMW, right?”

“Yes, she lets me drive it sometimes, but I found it to be too large.”

Dean reaches the door first and holds it open for them. “Yeah, but she’s got an X7. The CR-V and the CX-5 are both compacts. Smaller than hers but bigger than the Audi.”

“I hear you’re looking for a crossover?” A middle-aged man with a slight paunch greets them right inside the door. His gaze flicks between them and settles on Ben with distaste, before he replaces it with the plastic smile of a salesman.

“He is,” Dean returns with his own grin, just as fake, because he’s pretty sure already that this guy is a douche-bag. He motions toward Cas.

“I’d like something in the compact size and you have both a Honda CR-V and a Mazda CX-5 listed in the paper,” Cas offers, seemingly oblivious to the man’s attitude.

“Okay, then. Let’s just take a walk out to the lot and see what we can find.”

Cas walks next to the man while Dean and Ben follow behind. Although they’re several steps behind, Dean can hear the way the salesman, Carl according to his nametag, tries to interest Cas in a variety of other cars. After the third time Cas tells him that he isn’t interested in a mid-size car, Dean wants to trip him. He’s clearly not listening to Cas at all.

Dean holds his tongue until they get to the long line of SUVs at the back of the lot. He leads them up to a brick red Sportage and turns to Cas. “Here we are, we can just—”

“This isn’t the car he wants to see,” Dean bites out, temple starting to throb.

“Excuse me?” Carl says with a sneer.

“This isn’t the car he wants to see. He’s interested in the CR-V or and CX-5. This is a Kia Sportage,” Dean says more forcefully. He gives a tight smile and points at the car. “See, says so right on the back.”

Carl’s eyes widen a little, but Dean can tell its fake. “Oh, you’re right. My mistake. You did say CR-V. Just right over here.” He leads Cas away, with Dean and Ben trailing behind again.

By the time Dean and Ben catch up, Carl is showing Cas a silver Mazda. “AM/FM/CD with integrated Bluetooth,” he is saying, pointing out features inside the car.

Cas slides behind the wheel of the car then makes a face. “I don’t like the way the dash is laid out,” he says, fiddling with the knobs on the radio.

Carl is standing behind Cas, so he can’t see the salesman roll his eyes. “I’m sure you could get used to it,” he starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“He said he doesn’t like the dash. Let’s see the other one.”

Cas falls in step with Dean this time as Carl leads them along the line of cars. “What is it?” he asks softly.

Dean rolls his eyes. “This guy’s a dickwad, Cas. You don’t have to buy a car from him,” he whispers so that Ben can’t hear.

“I don’t have to like him to buy a car from him, Dean,” Cas returns just as softly.

Carl opens the door of the CR-V and allows Cas to climb into the driver’s seat. “I like this,” he says, manipulating all of the dials. “Everything is laid out well, so I can reach it.” He climbs out and walks around the outside of the car, opening doors and lifting the back hatch. “What is the gas mileage like?” he asks.

“Thirty-one city, forty-one highway,” Carl answers without a pause.

Ben tugs on Dean’s hand. When he tugs a second time, Dean looks down. “That’s not right, daddy,” he says, loudly enough for Carl to hear.

“What was that?” the salesman says with a glare.

“That’s not right. This is a 2014 Honda CR-V,” Ben states. “The manufacturer’s listed miles per gallon is twenty-three city, thirty-one highway. That’s what the book says.”

Dean glances up at Cas, who narrows his eyes and turns to Carl. “That’s a rather large difference, don’t you think?” Cas says mildly. Dean bites back a grin.

“Actually, yes, that’s, uh, that’s right. I accidentally gave you the mileage for a Honda Civic,” Carl bites out with a grimace, shooting a dirty look at Ben.

Dean would like to knock him on his ass for that, but he figures that would be a bad way for Cas to get a car. “How about a test drive?” he says cheerfully instead.

Dean doesn’t feel too bad about his fantasy of violence because Carl looks at Dean as if he’d be the one throwing the first punch. “I’ll need to get the keys out of the office.”

“Great,” Dean says, grabbing Ben’s hand. “Ben should probably use the bathroom. We’ll walk up with you,” he continues, then turns to Cas, “We’ll meet you up at the building afterward.”

Cas just rolls his eyes and shakes his head affectionately. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d think Cas was completely unaffected by this asshole. Maybe he should take up yoga, too.

Carl reaches the door first, but he doesn’t wait for them, letting it just slam shut instead. Dean bites back another laugh and follows the signs down the hallway to the restrooms. When they exit the bathroom, Ben skips ahead to the waiting room, where cartoons are playing on the overhead television. Dean can see him through the glass walls so he takes his time. He figures Carl would be on his way back to Cas by now, so he’s surprised when he hears the man’s voice coming from one of the side offices.

“Like I have time for this shit,” he says, punctuated by the rattle of keys. “These two fags come in waving their fucked up lifestyle in my face and I’m just supposed to put on a smile and sell them a car like they don’t make my skin crawl. And they got a kid, Gerald. What the hell kind of life is that kid gonna have being raised in that? They’re an abomination.”

Dean’s blood pressure shoots into the red and he clenches his fists. Anger, hot and suffocating clouds his vision as he imagines marching through the door and slamming Carl against the wall. After all his time with Ash, it’s not even the worst thing that has ever been said about him, but it’s the first time anyone has ever linked his sexuality to Ben’s well-being. It makes him sick to his stomach.

He tamps down his desire to start throwing punches, not because the asshole doesn’t deserve it, but because despite what that moron thinks, Dean is a good father and he’d never involve Ben in that. Man, how he wouldn’t love to run into this guy out at a bar some night, though. Show him what an abomination he really is.

Dean takes a deep breath and continues down the hallway to the waiting room though he’s not sure how he manages to look calm at all. “Hey, bug, you wanna go wait in the car instead?” he asks, praying that his voice is steady enough to get past Ben. “You can finish listenin’ to your book. If Mr. Novak likes this car, you might be gettin’ your surprise sooner rather than later.”

Thankfully Ben agrees and they exit the showroom before Carl shows his face. Dean isn’t sure he could control himself if he came face to face with the smug bastard. When they reach the Impala, Dean helps Ben set up his headphones, then rests his head against the steering wheel, praying for the cold leather to calm his anger. Bigoted assholes are a dime a dozen, but it’s been years since he had to deal with one. He forgot how much it hurts.

They must leave from the back of the lot because Dean doesn’t see them go, but they are pulling up in front of the showroom fifteen minutes later. Carl climbs out of the passenger seat and going into the building, but Cas is smiling, so Dean and Ben get out of the car and make their way over to him. “I think I’m going to take this one,” Cas says, gripping Dean’s bicep. “Thank you, Dean. I don’t think I would have done this if it wasn’t for you. This is going to make my life so much easier. Carl is going to run some numbers.”

Dean doesn’t want to ruin this for Cas, but he can’t stop his grimace at the man’s name.

“I know you don’t like him, Dean, but just because he’s unpleasant—”

“It’s not just that,” Dean cuts in, anger like thick black tar coating the back of his throat.

“Then what?” Cas squints slightly as he studies Dean’s face.

Dean shakes his head. “Just, it’s nothing. Never mind.”

Cas reaches out and grips Dean’s chin, forcing him to look at him. “It’s not nothing. You’re upset. More upset than you were before. Something happened.”

Dean sighs. He knows that Cas will get it out of him eventually. “I overheard Carl talkin’ to one of the other salesmen while he was gettin’ the keys. He didn’t know I was in the hallway.” At least, Dean assumes he didn’t know. For all Dean knows, Carl may have intended him to overhear his vile words.

Cas nods encouragingly, so Dean sighs and continues. He leans in so he can speak softly enough that Ben can’t hear. “He called us fags. Said we make his skin crawl and that we’re gonna screw up Ben because we’re an abomination.” He has to force the words out through the bile rising in his throat.

Cas’ eyes widen fractionally with each word, only to finally narrow at the final slur. Looking right at him, Dean is mesmerized by the way the icy fury seeps into Cas’ eyes, making the normally lively blue freeze over like ice crystals. “He what?” Cas hisses.

Dean shrugs, knowing that Cas doesn’t want him to repeat it. A flurry of emotion passes over Cas’ face, all some varying form of fury or disgust. Dean watches through the windows behind him until Carl comes into view. He walks up the long hallway toward them, a small sheaf of papers in his hands. “He’s comin’, man,” Dean warns. “Pull yourself together, at least until you get the car.”

“Here we go, Mr. Novak,” Carl says cheerfully, pushing through the glass doors.

 _He must be getting a nice enough commission from this sale that it helps him get past making a deal with a fag_ , Dean thinks indignantly. He isn’t sure how he expects Cas to handle the situation, but the approach Cas takes certainly isn’t one of the options.

Cas turns to Carl with a look of such absolute fury that even Dean is taken aback. “I will not be purchasing a car here,” he announces, voice full of icy rage. He snatches the papers from Carl and rips them in half and then half again before throwing them in the man’s face. “Not only will I not be purchasing a car; I will make sure to tell my friends to avoid this establishment as well. Neither I nor any of my friends have any interest in supporting a bigoted, homophobic asshole!” His voice increases in volume with each word until the last several are a shout that attracts the attention of the other salesmen on the inside of the glass. “You are just lucky that I’m satisfied to take my business elsewhere and am not asking to speak to your manager!”

Cas leans down and scoops Ben up in his arms, then turns and stalks toward to the car. Dean just stands there, looking between Cas’ retreating back and Carl’s dumbstruck face. So much for yoga, he thinks with a strangled laugh. He’s torn between wanting to deck the guy and wanting to sprint after Cas and kiss him senseless. He settles for a smirk. He leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “If you’re wonderin’ why I like dick, just think: If he’s that hot when he’s pissed, imagine what he must be like in bed.”

Carl’s eyes widen in shock and Dean gives him a wink before turning to sprint to the car. Cas already has Ben buckled into the back and he sits in the passenger seat with his hands covering his face.

Dean starts the car and pulls out of the lot before Carl can send security out after them or some equally asinine response, but after they’ve gone several blocks Cas still hasn’t removed his hands. Dean pulls off the road into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant. “What is it, man? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he whispers through his fingers.

Dean furrows his brow. “Sorry? For what? That was freaking awesome.” He pulls Cas’ hands away from his face and rests his fingers under the other man’s chin to tip his head up. “Look at me, Cas.”

Finally, Cas meets his eyes. “I shouldn’t have swore in front of Ben,” he says miserably. “I lost my temper.”

Dean doesn’t mean to chuckle because Cas looks so upset with himself, but he can’t help it. “Dude, that is far from the worst thing Ben has ever heard,” he says with a grin. “I just feel bad ‘cause I know you liked the car.”

“There are other cars.”

Dean nods. “We got another lot left today. They’ve got a Santa Fe that’s a pretty similar size. If you still like the CR-V better, we’ll just look for some and go look at them next weekend.”

“Thank you, Dean,” he says with a genuine smile.

Dean pulls out of the lot and heads toward the next car lot. They’ve only gone a few miles when Ben says softly from the backseat, “Mr. Novak, what does homophobic mean?”

Cas’ eyes widen comically as he swings his gaze to Dean’s. Shit, how to explain that to a five-year-old. Dean prays for Cas to jump in and save the situation like he always does, but he’s just sitting there, blinking at Dean as if the pattern of blinks spells out a message in some weird Morse Code.

Finally, Dean finds his voice. “Uh, it’s a person who doesn’t like people who fall in love with someone who is the same sex they are, like two boys or two girls.”

There’s silence for a moment and Dean is hopeful that Ben will just accept his explanation without comment. No such luck. “You mean like you and Ash?”

Dean winces, eyes darting over to Cas, but the other man just keeps his gaze straight ahead. “Uh, yeah, bud, like me and Ash. Or like Charlie and Dorothy.” He looks up in the rearview mirror to watch Ben process that. Even though he and Ash haven’t really been together in Ben’s lifetime, any doubts he’d had about whether his son understood that Dean and Ash’s relationship was different than say, Dean and Benny, are laid to rest.

“But people can’t help who they love,” Ben says finally. “It isn’t nice to be mean to people for something they can’t help.”

Dean smiles and Cas finally turns to meet his eyes, lips twitching. Out of the mouths of babes. Grown adults can’t wrap their heads around why homophobia is wrong, but leave it to a five-year-old to figure it out.

“That’s like when people are mean to me for being autistic,” he continues.

Dean’s eyes widen. Where did that come from? He’s never talked to Ben about his Autism. How does he even know that?

As if Cas can read the panic on his face, he slides his hand over on the seat where Ben can’t see and winds his fingers through Dean’s. “We talk about it at school, Dean, and during the parent nights sometimes. It’s important that the kids understand themselves,” he says gently.

Dean wants to argue and tell him that it’s too much for such a little boy to understand when Dean is having such a hard time with it himself, but when he looks in the mirror Ben looks serene. To Ben, his autism is just another part of him, like having green eyes and wavy hair, the same way Dean’s sexuality is just one facet of what makes him who he is. He squeezes Cas’ hand in return. “You’re right, bud,” he says instead, “it’s just like that.”

The salesman at the third lot, Aaron, is young, probably not much older than his mid-twenties, but he’s friendly, with a wide smile that lights up his whole face. As they walk in, Ben is still fixing his stickers on his index card from the last lot and the guy immediately asks him what his favorite planet is. That earns all kinds of bonus points from Dean.

“We’re interested in takin’ a look at the Santa Fe you had in the paper,” Dean says as Aaron shakes both of their hands.

Aaron’s face falls. “Ah, shoot. It was sold this morning. Don’t think we have any more on the lot.”

Cas frowns, his shoulders slumping in defeat and Dean wonders if he’s regretting not buying the car from Carl.  “You got any CR-Vs?” he says on a whim.

Aaron’s face lights up. “Sure do, we just got one in this morning. It was a special order that got returned, only has about two hundred miles on it. Even though it’s a 2015, we have to sell it as used because the original owners took delivery.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it?” Dean asks warily.

“Nah. Guy bought it for his wife, but she’s an older lady and said it was too big. They traded it in on a little two-seater. Not sure what made the guy think she’d want an SUV. Let me just grab the keys in case you want to take it for a spin.”

They follow Aaron through the lot to a pale blue CR-V. Aaron opens it up and ushers Cas into the driver’s seat. He walks around the outside of the car, listing off features and chatting with Ben as they go. “Whoa, the kid really knows his stuff. We should give him a job. I bet he knows more about this car than some of our salespeople,” he jokes.

“I really like this car,” Cas says, running one hand over the steering wheel.

“You should take it for a ride before you decide,” Aaron insists.

“I drove a 2014 at another lot.”

Aaron narrows his eyes. “And you didn’t like it?”

Cas just shrugs. “The deal fell through.”

Dean loves that Cas is classy like that. He could badmouth the other dealership or even just Carl, but he just brushes it off as something that isn’t worth any more of his time. Dean shakes his head to clear it. He falls for the guy a little more every day.

“Well, the 2015 is different enough that it’s worth taking it out,” Aaron continues.

“We’ll just wait inside,” Dean says, taking Ben’s hand.

“Don’t be silly,” Aaron exclaims. “Jump in and we’ll swing by your car and grab his booster so you can all go. It’s important that the car works for the whole family.”

Dean meets Cas’ eyes over Ben’s head. Aaron thinks they’re a family too, but unlike Carl, he seems just fine with it. The thought fills Dean’s chest with warmth but he’s not sure how Cas feels about the assumption. He starts to protest when Cas cuts him off.

“He’s right, Dean,” Cas says, holding his gaze meaningfully. “It’s important that you and Ben are comfortable in the car too.”

Dean’s chest constricts with emotion and he has the sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss Cas. A family. That’s what Cas has been telling him all along, right? That he wants them to be a family? Dean doesn’t think he can speak, so he just nods and gets into the passenger side of the car. Aaron opens the rear door for Ben, then climbs in beside him. A quick stop to get Ben’s booster seat and they’re pulling out of the lot.

Cas explains to Dean all of the things he likes about the car as they drive, with Aaron giving occasional input and directions from the backseat. Mostly, though, the salesman chats with Ben. It starts as Ben listing off facts about the car, which Aaron confirms and adds to when he can, but it quickly reverts back to space. Dean keeps expecting Aaron to tune Ben out or end the conversation, but he doesn’t. By the time they return to the dealership, the conversation is still going and Aaron is adding bits of information he knows about space as well.

“I’d very much like to buy this car,” Cas announces, much to Dean’s chagrin. So much for playing hard to get so they can talk him down.

While they’re walking inside to do the paperwork, Dean falls into step beside Aaron. “Hey, man. I just wanted to thank you for entertaining Ben so Cas could focus on the car. I know he can be a bit much.”

Aaron shrugs with a smile. “Not a problem. I’m used to it. My nephew has Aspergers,” he says, then his eyes go wide. “Not that, I mean, I’m not saying Ben does, I just mean, ah, crap. Sorry, I shouldn’t have just assumed.”

Dean chuckles and claps him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. There’s nothing to apologize ‘cause it isn’t an insult. Ben was diagnosed four months ago.”

Aaron sighs in relief. “Well, he’s a great kid.”

While Aaron and his supervisor run Cas’ credit and fill out the paperwork, Cas gives Ben his last two stickers. “I did it! I was good and listened and helped you find the perfect car. What’s the surprise? What’s the surprise?”

Dean chuckles as Cas reaches into the messenger back and pulls out an Ipad and a set of headphones. He flicks through the menus and loads a video before handing it to Ben, who squeals excitedly. Dean looks down at the screen. _Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey._ Huh. He should have known.

Their adventure ends somewhat anticlimactically with Aaron handing Cas the keys to his new car. When Aaron asks if he has a preferred mechanic and offers to sign him up for a service contract, Cas blushes and glances over at Dean. Aaron smiles when Dean takes the binder of service information, but he doesn’t comment.

After shaking hands with Aaron again, Dean follows Cas out to the CR-V to retrieve Ben’s booster seat. As Dean is unbuckling it, Ben crawls in the other side of the car. “Daddy, can I ride home with Cas?”

Dean gasps and shoots a shocked expression at Cas, who is standing outside of the opposite door. His eyes are just as comically wide. Finally, Dean pulls himself together enough to respond, “You should call him Mr. Novak.”

Ben pulls a face. “You call him Cas.”

Dean looks back up at Cas, who just shrugs. Traitor.

“That’s because we’re friends, but he’s your teacher,” Dean tries.

Ben considers that, his face scrunching up. After a few moments, he turns to pin Cas with a measuring look. “Friends like daddy and Ash?” he asks shrewdly.

Dean is pretty sure his heart has stopped. So much for going slowly around Ben. The kid is way too astute for his own good. Cas looks at him for help over Ben’s head and Ben swings back around to study Dean. “Maybe, bug, but we’re more like daddy and Benny right now,” Dean says. He catches Cas’ eye to be sure he is okay with that explanation. Cas smiles and nods.

Ben nods and turns back to Cas. “Okay, so at school I’ll call you Mr. Novak and at home, I’ll call you Cas. Is that okay?”

Cas nods, his face lighting up at the idea. He looks like he might cry and Dean is pretty sure he knows exactly how the other man feels. He certainly wasn’t expecting a day of car shopping to be so revealing.

Ben climbs across the seat and plops down in his booster seat. “So can I ride home with Cas?” he repeats expectantly.

Dean meets Cas’ eye from the other side of the car again. A family. This is exactly what it feels like. “As long as it’s okay with Cas,” he says with a smile.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a roller coaster. Trigger warnings are in the end notes to avoid spoilers.

The garage door slides up smoothly as Castiel pulls into the driveway. He parks next to his gleaming yellow and black Camaro and puts the door down behind him. Though the weather has been bad enough that he hasn’t really had a chance to take it, _her_ he reminds himself, out for a test drive, he is impressed by the quality of the work. Even Gabriel expressed admiration when he texted photos. As soon as the weather breaks, Dean promises that they will take _her_ out for a long drive to ‘put her through her paces.’ Whatever that means.

Castiel picks up his work bag and heads into the house. He can’t stop the smile that blooms whenever he thinks about Dean. In the two weeks since their first official date, they’ve talked almost every day even though they’ve only seen each other at parent night. Work and Ben keep Dean busy, but Castiel’s favorite part of the day has become the fifteen or twenty minutes right before bed when Dean calls to ask how his day was. It’s so sweet and not really what Castiel was expecting from Dean. There seems to be a lot more to Dean than meets the eye.

He throws his bag on the island and tends to Juliet’s food and water before pulling open the refrigerator and peering inside.  Leftovers, chopped vegetables, and a pack of chicken breasts that really need to either be made or frozen. He sighs and closes the door, then pulls out his phone.

_[You] 4:23PM: Would you and Ben like to have dinner? There is minimal edible food in my house._

Dean is at work for another forty minutes, so Castiel knows he may or may not get a response before the end of his shift. It depends on how busy Dean is and how closely Bobby is keeping an eye on him. While he waits, Castiel climbs the stairs and begins to change out of his school clothes. The phone buzzes as he’s pulling off his slacks, so he assumes Bobby must be out of the shop. 

**[Dean] 4:36PM: Can’t. Got plans.**

Castiel’s frowns at the abrupt response, pushing down the stab of disappointment. Although he’s a little hurt by Dean’s curtness, he sends a simple “okay” and puts the phone back on the dresser. Rather than changing into jeans as he’d planned, he pulls on a pair of worn sweatpants and a t-shirt. No need to dress up for leftovers by himself.

He’s pulling the foil off a pan of lasagna that Meg left at the house when his phone starts buzzing, the long-long-short pattern that signifies a call. Glancing down at the screen, he sees that it’s Dean, so he taps accept and puts it to his ear. “Hello?”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says immediately. There’s an unusual flatness to his voice that takes Castiel by surprise. “I didn’t mean to brush you off like that.”

“It’s okay. I know you’re busy.”

“No,” Dean barks back, then in a softer tone, “No, it’s not that. And it’s not okay to treat you like crap just because I’m havin’ a bad day. Sammy says I do that, so, yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Apology accepted then.”

There’s a long pause while Castiel can hear the sounds of traffic, and then a car door slamming.  Dean must be just leaving work. “Did Ben say anything to you about today?” he asks, voice tight.

Castiel frowns. Dean is starting to worry him now. “No, but I barely saw Ben today. He has been doing so well that he only comes to our room for social skills group on Thursdays and for dismissal.”

The Impala starts up, he recognizes the rumble even over the phone, and then Dean sighs. “Today’s the anniversary of when his mom died.”

Castiel takes a breath through the sudden tightness in his chest. That explains why Dean is having a bad day. “I’m sorry, Dean. Is there anything I can do?”

“He wants to go to her grave. Missouri helped him make some kind of bouquet and he says he wants to talk to her. He was so little when she died; this is the first year that he’s really been old enough to get it, you know?” Dean sounds tired and emotionally wiped out, but with that edge of hysteria that Castiel has come to recognize means that Dean is a hairsbreadth away from losing it, even though he’ll never admit it.

Castiel doesn’t want to impose on Dean and Ben’s private grief, but he wants to support them. He takes a deep breath and asks, “Do you want me to come with you, Dean?”

There is a rasping noise and then silence for so long that Castiel pulls the phone away from his ear to check that they haven’t been disconnected. Just as he about to speak, Dean responds with a sigh, “You’d do that?”

It makes Castiel’s heartache that Dean sounds surprised, that he feels that he even needs to ask. “Of course.”

“She was my ex,” he says as if that is some kind of explanation.

Castiel frowns though Dean can’t see it. “And the mother of your child, Dean. You’re allowed to grieve her. This isn’t just about Ben.”

Dean expels a shaky breath. “Yeah, okay. It would be, I mean, it would really mean a lot to me if you went.”

“Of course. I’ll come pick you up.” Dean starts to balk, as Castiel knew he would, so he finishes with, “There is no reason you should have to cope with this and driving at the same time. Let me do this for you.” He ends with a slightly pleading tone that he hopes gets through to Dean.

“Yeah, okay. About 5:30? I’m pulling in now. Just gotta pick Ben up from Missouri.”

“I’ll be there.”

Castiel puts the casserole dish back in the refrigerator and heads upstairs to change, overcome with a whirl of emotions. Concern for Ben and Dean wars with what feels like a misplaced warmth that Dean considers him close enough to share their grief with him. He pulls on an extra hoodie, since they will probably be outdoors for a while, and heads back out to the garage.

It’s not snowing when he pulls up in front of Dean’s, but the wind chill is still in the low twenties. Castiel is glad that both Ben and Dean are bundled up in heavy winter coats when they appear on the porch. Considering how early it gets dark, it makes sense for them to get on the road immediately.

Dean is carrying Ben’s booster seat, which Castiel hadn’t even considered. He thinks about checking the brand so that he can purchase one for in his car and the thought brings back that warm, glowy feeling. There is no doubt in his mind that he wants them to be part of his life for a long time.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says with a tight smile when he climbs into the passenger seat after settling Ben in back. He reaches across the seat and Castiel meets him halfway, squeezing his hand lightly. “Thanks for doing this.”

Castiel gives a small nod. “Of course.”

“Are you going to talk to my mom, too?” Ben asks seriously. When Castiel looks in the rear view mirror, Ben is clutching Benson and a small bouquet of dried flowers to his chest. He doesn’t look particularly sad, at least not as upset as Dean appears to be.

Castiel swallows hard. “I didn’t know your mom, Ben, but I could say a few things if you want.”

Ben nods gravely. “It’s good to talk to her. I’m sure she gets lonely in heaven.”

Castiel finds Dean’s eyes and squeezes his hand again before pulling away from the house. Unlike his normally chatty self, Ben is quiet during the drive. Dean alternates between staring out the window and looking down at their clasped hands on the center console between them. The only words are Dean’s directions once they reach the cemetery, guiding Castiel to the lot closest to Lisa’s grave.

They get out of the car and walk through the snow. Castiel is glad that there are only a few inches covering the grass because much more would have made it hard to get to the gravesite. After a few feet, Dean scoops Ben up to carry him. Despite his puffy coat, he looks tiny in Dean’s arms.

The graveyard is peaceful, almost beautiful in a sad, melancholic way, as they trek through the stones. Up ahead, Castiel can make out Lisa’s name on a stone etched with an angel with outstretched wings. He stops and motions for Dean and Ben to go on ahead. When they approach the grave, Dean stoops down and sets Ben on his feet next to him. The boy lays one hand on the stone and murmurs a greeting that Castiel can’t quite hear from the distance.

Ben keeps one arm around Dean’s neck for a few moments, then turns and says something that makes Dean shake his head. Ben repeats it more forcefully and Dean finally acquiesces, standing and walking back to where Castiel is standing.

“He says he’s got stuff to say that’s just for her,” Dean says, eyes red with unshed tears. “This is so fucking unfair.” His voice is gruff, raspier than usual.

Castiel swallows his own tears and slides one arm around Dean’s waist and squeezes. His heart aches for them. He remembers standing at his father’s grave as a grown man, full of so much anger for what would never be, not only for having lost his father but for having lost any chance to have a better relationship with him. He can’t imagine what it’s like for this little boy to have never had the chance at all.

They stand together like that, holding on to one another, as they watch Ben talk with his usual animation. The patter of his voice carries to them, not the words, but he doesn’t sound sad. At one point, he waves his hand in their direction, as if he’s calling Lisa’s attention to them and a strangled sob escapes the man beside him. Castiel tightens his grip and stays silent.

After ten minutes or so, Ben finally turns and walks back to them, Benson clutched tight to his chest. His cheeks are red with the cold but his eyes are dry, not bloodshot as if he has cried at all. He takes his father’s hand and squeezes it. “Go ahead and talk to her, daddy. She’s listening.”

Dean pulls in a deep shaky breath through his nose and Castiel gives one more squeeze before releasing him. As he steps forward, Castiel can see a single trail of moisture where a tear has escaped. He raises one hand and ruthlessly scrubs it away. Ben slips his hand into Castiel’s and they watch as Dean crouches in front of the stone and traces the letters of Lisa’s name. There are no sounds and Castiel can’t tell if he’s speaking out loud or not.

“I told her we’re okay,” Ben says, breaking the silence.

Castiel looks down at him in wonder. He feels inordinately lucky that this child has come into his life. “You did?”

Ben nods with a small smile. “I told her that we miss her but that she shouldn’t worry because we got lots of people taking care of us. I hope daddy tells her that too. I don’t know if she believed me.”

Castiel nods, unable to force words past the lump in his throat. Dean takes much less time at the grave than Ben did and when he approaches, Castiel turns to start back to the car. Ben, however, has other plans. He squeezes Castiel’s hand and when he looks down, Ben murmurs, “Your turn to talk to her.”

Castiel almost refuses. After all, he doesn’t know her. What could he possibly have to say to this woman?

“You don’t have to,” Dean says, scooping Ben up in his arms again. Unlike Ben, Dean’s eyes are red and swollen, though he’s wiped away any evidence from his cheeks.

Castiel looks at them, suddenly realizing that he does have things to say to Lisa. He shakes his head, not trusting his voice, and walks forward. Imitating both Dean and Ben, he lays one hand on the cold stone. He thinks about what it must have been like for Dean in those early days right after her death, thrust alone into the terrifying world of a single parent. Even with his family’s support, the weight of the responsibility must have been crushing.

“Lisa,” he says, his voice cracking on the word. He swallows hard and clears his throat before trying again. “You don’t know me, but I feel like I know you. That part of you that lives on in your son, at least. You would be so proud of him. He’s amazing.”

He stops when he feels the first tears slide down his cheeks, but unlike Dean, he doesn’t wipe them away. This woman deserves them. His throat is burning but he forces himself to continue. “You would be proud of Dean, too. He doesn’t believe it, but he’s a wonderful father. He misses you so much, but he’s done the best he possibly could with your son.”

He steals a glance back at them. It is starting to get dark, the soft twilight bathing them in shadows, but they are like a beacon of light to Castiel. He grips the edge of the hard granite. “Thank you,” he says softly, not bothering to blink away his tears. “Thank you for sharing them with me. I’ll take care of them as well as I’m able to, I promise.”

Dean is watching him steadily when he returns to them. Though he still holds Ben, he reaches out with his other hand and gently wipes Castiel’s tears away with his thumb. Despite what they have, or haven’t, told Ben about their relationship, he wraps his hand around the back of Castiel’s neck and pulls him in so that their foreheads are touching and just breathes the same air. “Thank you,” Dean says softly.

Castiel nods, the movement making their noses bump and Ben giggles. Dean smiles in response and soon they are all three laughing. As they walk to the car, Ben looks back and lifts a small hand as if he’s waving goodbye. “We’ll come back and talk to her, right?” he asks as Dean straps him in the backseat.

Dean swallows hard. “Yeah, bug, we’ll come back.” Castiel is pulling onto the highway to head back toward north Lawrence when Dean adds, “You wanna stop at the Roadhouse for dinner?”

“Sure. I haven’t eaten yet.”

Dean smiles and reaches for Castiel’s hand, not letting go until they park in front of the Roadhouse. When Dean helps Ben out of the car, the boy runs ahead of them to the door, disappearing inside. Dean chuckles at Castiel’s worried look. “He’s safer in there than he is probably anywhere else in the world,” he reassures.

“Hey!” Jo calls from behind the bar. “Look who it is. About time you talked this asshole into bringing you here.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Come on, Joanna Beth. Can you lay off for today at least?”

Jo’s face immediately transforms. “Sorry, yeah. He ran in the back with mom,” she says, pulling out a beer and setting it on the counter. “How’d it go?”

Dean takes a swallow and shrugs. “Good as can be expected, I guess. We’re gonna grab a booth in the back, okay? Tell Ellen to send him out if he gets to be too much.”

Jo laughs. “Yeah, right. Like that will ever happen. You want menus?”

Dean looks over at Castiel. “Burger okay? Nobody makes a burger like Ellen.”

“Sure.”

Dean grins and slides an arm around his waist, pulling him tight against his side. “Knew there was a reason I liked you,” he teases, the tightness around his eyes gone, replaced with easy humor. “Two burgers, fries, make one of ‘em sweet potato, and a bottle of that sweet tea Ellen’s been goin’ on about. Tell your mom to put whatever the muchkin wants on my tab.”

Castiel follows Dean to a booth along the far wall and slides in opposite him. When Dean reaches across the table, Castiel takes his hand and twines their fingers together.

“Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Of course.”

Dean runs his thumb over the back of Castiel’s hand, the repetitive motion soothing. “It sucked, you know? I mean, things were never really good with me and Lis, but we did what we had to do for Ben. We had him in a daycare down by the hospital back then. Lis was headed there after her yoga class, she taught at a studio downtown, when this asshole ran a red light and hit her. She was pronounced dead at the scene and her cellphone got destroyed in the crash, so it took them forever to find her emergency contact. It was actually the lady at the daycare that called me ‘cause she never showed up.” His voice is steady; as if he’s telling a story that happened to someone else or one that he’s practiced a dozen times.

“I can’t imagine how hard that was,” Castiel murmurs.

“I was so scared. I was pissed at her for leaving me to do this on my own and terrified that I was gonna fuck it all up. Hell, sometimes I’m still terrified.”

“That’s understandable, Dean.”

Dean looks up, eyes piercing through Castiel. “I don’t want you to think that’s all this is. That I just don’t want to do this alone anymore.”

Castiel smiles reassuringly. “I know that, Dean, but even if that isn’t why, it is the truth. You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

Dean heaves a shaky sigh. “You better be careful, sayin’ all the right things, you’re gonna make me fall for you.”

“Aha, my nefarious plan is working,” Castiel returns with a grin.

Ben reappears from the kitchen when Jo brings their food, a platter of chicken nuggets and milk added on. They talk about school and spring and Easter coming up in a few weeks. Ben invites Castiel to dye eggs with them, which Castiel graciously accepts. It’s all so easy, feels so right, that Castiel wonders if he should be worried that he’s dreaming. After everything they’ve been through, it almost seems like a miracle that he gets to have this.

His phone vibrates in his pocket but he’s so caught up in the conversation that he ignores it. A few moments later it begins to vibrate again, signaling another call. It cuts off and then almost immediately there is one long vibration for a text message.

Dean chuckles. “You gonna answer that or do you just like the feeling?”

Castiel flushes at the dirty gleam in Dean’s eye and looks over at Ben, who is happily munching on a French fry, completely oblivious. He rolls his eyes and pulls the phone out of his pocket. Two missed calls from Gabriel and a text promising to keep calling until he answers. True to his word, another call comes in before he can even hit re-dial.

“Hello, Gabriel. Has it ever occurred to you that I might be busy?”

Gabriel snorts. “It’s a school night, so I know you’re not bumpin’ uglies with Winchester ‘cause his kid has school tomorrow. Anything else can wait.”

Castiel lets out a long-suffering sigh. “We’re having dinner. You don’t always have to be so crude.”

“I don’t have to, no,” his brother agrees amicably, “but it’s so much more fun.”

“Gabriel, is there a point to your call? And if so, are you going to get to it?”

“Untwist your panties, Casarooni. Remember that British douche-bag at Gypsy Records I defended in that copyright case last year?”

“Vaguely,” Castiel says with a sigh, stuffing a French fry into his mouth regardless of how rude it is to eat while on the phone. He figures rules of etiquette don’t apply to Gabriel.

“Well, I ended up at a party with him over the weekend. Talk circled around to vintage cars and he dropped that he’s got a ’67 GTO he’s looking to have restored.”

There’s a pause long enough to indicate that Castiel is supposed to have something to say to this. “Okay? If that’s your point, Gabriel, it’s an obtuse one.”

“Jesus, Cassie, and you call me slow. Are you or are you not doing the horizontal tango with a guy who restores cars?”

Castiel starts to argue that he and Dean haven’t slept together yet when Gabriel’s words register. “Why would a record producer in California want to have a restoration done in Kansas?” Up until now, Dean hasn’t appeared to be paying attention to Castiel’s conversation, but his eyes suddenly snap up to Castiel’s. He raises one eyebrow in question and Castiel waves him off.

“Duh, little bro, because I showed him the work Dean-o did on your Camaro. He’s got this thing about scouting talent that no-one else has found. He’s willing to ship it out to Lawrence, then he’ll fly out when it’s done and drive it back. He even said he’ll fork over fifty percent of the total cost up front as a down payment. If Dean can cover the rest of the upfront costs, he can make serious bank on this job and get his name out there. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“I have to go, Gabriel,” Castiel says abruptly. From the way Dean’s eyes are widening like saucers, he can tell that he heard at least part of Gabriel’s spiel through the phone.

“But Cas—”

“I’ll call you back,” he says, cutting off the call with Gabriel mid-whine. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Some guy in Cali wants me to restore his car?” he says tentatively as if he can’t believe the words.

Castiel nods. “A ’67 GTO. He’s a record producer that Gabe defended last year.” As he explains the rest of what Gabriel said, Dean’s eyes get wider and wider until Castiel is seriously concerned that he might pop a blood vessel in his head. “Dean, take a breath, would you? You’re scaring me.”

“That’s ridiculous, Cas. Why? How? I can’t—”

“Dean, this is what you’ve been dreaming about. A way to get your foot in the door of a restoration business. Isn’t it worth at least talking about?”

Dean stops, mouth agape, then snaps his jaw shut. “When does he need to know by?”

“I assume sooner rather than later.”

Dean considers, then nods. “Bobby’s probably in the back,” he says, eyes searching Castiel’s face.

“So go talk to him. Ben and I will protect the fries.”

Dean doesn’t sprint to the kitchen, but it’s close. Castiel waits, slowly, methodically working his way through the last of the fries and downing another of the sweet teas that Jo brings for him. Movement by the kitchen door draws his attention and he looks up to see Bobby clamp his hand down on Dean’s shoulder and squeeze. Dean looks dazed.

Finally, after a few more minutes of conversation, Dean looks over at Castiel. His eyes are wide and excited, with a smile splitting his handsome face. He gives Castiel a thumbs up.

Castiel picks up his phone and quickly types out a message before Dean can second-guess himself.

_[You] 7:41PM: He’ll do it._

* * *

* * *

“Are you sure this isn’t too sappy?” Dean asks for the third time since they dropped Ben off with Sam, who’d offered to watch Ben while Jess is at a bridal shower. It’s the first time in weeks that they’ve had any time to themselves and Dean doesn’t want to waste it.

Cas rolls his eyes. “Of course not. I think it’s a great idea.”

Since they so rarely have time for dates separate from Ben and Sam can only keep him until three-thirty, they decided to plan two dates in one so they could maximize their time. Dean planned lunch for them while Cas devised the activity for the afternoon. The only stipulation was that the date had to be something that was important to them, something they wanted to share with the other person.

Getting to know someone has never been a problem because before Cas, Dean’s ‘dates’ usually required nothing more than an hour in the back seat of his car or a quick trip back to their place. Trading backstories wasn’t really a high priority when he never planned to see them again.

As soon as they decided Dean immediately knew where he wanted to take Cas, so he kept a close eye on the weather reports. When the day dawned much warmer than typical for early March, Dean figured it was a good sign.

“Are we eating out for lunch?” Cas asks, fiddling with the radio. When he doesn’t find anything he likes on the dial, he reaches under the seat and pulls out Dean’s box of cassettes. He rifles through them until he finds what he’s looking for and Dean smiles when Seger’s live album drifts from the speakers. He adjusts the volume until he’s satisfied and shoves the box back under the seat. Only then does he look up and realize Dean has been watching him out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

Dean chuckles. “Nothin’, babe, just been a long time since anyone but me or Sam messed with those tapes. I like it.”

Cas squints, his brows pulling together, and he does that weird tilty-head thing that Dean loves, drawing another chuckle. “Babe?” he queries.

Dean flushes. “I, ah, if you don’t like it—”

“I love it. It’s just been an equally long time since anyone has called me by a pet name.”  Then with a shudder, he adds, “Anyone that isn’t Gabe or Zar.”

“Well, sweetheart, I’ll make sure I do it more often,” Dean teases.

Cas unbuckles his seat belt and Dean looks at him questioningly until he slides to the middle of the bench seat and buckles the lap belt there. Warmth, low and inviting, courses through him when Cas slides his hand up to rest on Dean’s thigh. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Question?” Dean chokes, because really, how is he supposed to think about questions when Cas’ fingers are drawing little circles on the inside seam of his jeans, mere inches from his burgeoning erection.

Cas snickers and squeezes Dean’s thigh before pulling his hand away. “You’re very distractible today, Dean. I asked where we are eating lunch.”

Dean rolls his eyes and spends a few moments willing his body into standby before he turns a glare on Cas, eyes flickering between his face and the road. “That’s because you’re distracting. You did that on purpose.”

Cas bites his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth until even Bobby in a bikini isn’t doing anything to slow Dean’s libido. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Knock it off right now or it won’t matter what’s for lunch because I’m gonna run off the road thinkin’ about how much I’d like to get my hands on you,” he demands with what is definitely not a whine. “Anyway, it’s a surprise. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Castiel chuckles and dutifully keeps his hands to himself though he continues to shoot Dean heated looks. Dean hadn’t planned on today’s activities being of the physical variety, but he’s finding it harder and harder to remember why waiting seems like a good idea.

They drive past the University of Kansas and the Alvamar Country Club, but it isn’t until they leave the city limits that Castiel speaks up again. “I hope we’re not going too far, Dean, because my part of the day is in Lawrence.”

“It’s actually not much farther,” he replies, turning onto the access road for Clinton State Park.

“We’re going to the park?”

Dean smiles and pats Cas on the leg, a little higher up than is probably decent but two can play at this sneaky game. “Wait and see,” he says slowly as if he’s talking to Ben. “Do we need to count the minutes?”

Cas sticks his tongue out in response since he’s the one that taught Dean to count the minutes with Ben when he was having a hard time waiting. “Fine,” he harrumphs, crossing his arms across his chest.

Fighting a smile, Dean follows the signs to the picnic pavilions just off the lake. When he pulls into the lot, theirs is the only car there.

“There’s snow on the ground,” Cas points out, tugging his coat tighter around him, but he gets out of the car and follows Dean to the trunk. He watches curiously as Dean pulls out a soft-sided cooler, a small propane space heater, and a duffle bag.

“Ye of little faith,” Dean says with a sigh. Cas follows him across the lot and down a short path through the woods. When they come out of the trees into a clearing, the lake spreads out in front of them.

Cas lets out a gasp and Dean grins. “I know, right?” he murmurs, leading Cas over to a pavilion. With the lake mostly frozen and snow hanging undisturbed in the trees around it, the scene is like something from a Christmas card. Where the sun glances off the ice, light twinkles and arcs through the air like rainbows from a sun-catcher. On the far side of the lake, in the protected game lands, Dean can see a small family of deer grazing.

“It’s beautiful, Dean. I’ve lived here for years and never came out here in the winter.”

“Dad brought us out here once. Wanted to try ice fishing. The fishing was a bust, but I never forgot how it looked, all pristine and perfect. Like there’s no humans anywhere, just this winter wonderland.”

Cas smiles and presses cold lips to Dean’s cheek, his breath hot in contrast. “It’s awfully cold for a picnic, though.”

“Leave that to me.” It only takes Dean a few minutes to get the propane heater fired up and to cover the table and bench with a blanket. He sets out a plate of sandwiches, some potato chips, and two bottles of the sweet tea Cas has been craving since he had it at the Roadhouse. Holding up another blanket, he motions to the bench. “Your table is ready,” he announces with a flourish.

He waits until Cas is settled to scoot in beside him, wrapping the blanket around both their shoulders. While the propane heater isn’t incredibly powerful, it puts out enough heat to raise the temperature around their little picnic enough to be comfortable. Though he’s no longer shivering, Cas moves in closer, body a long line of heat against Dean’s side. Dean passes out the sandwiches and drops a handful of chips onto Cas’ plate.

“I’m sorry lunch isn’t more impressive,” he murmurs, watching Cas take a bite of his simple turkey and cheese sandwich.

Cas turns to him with wide eyes. “Are you kidding, Dean? This is amazing. It’s beautiful here and the heater is clever and this is just, no one has ever done anything like this for me before.” He sighs softly before leaning his head onto Dean’s shoulder. “It’s perfect.”

It’s way too early for the feelings that are bubbling up in Dean’s chest, so he takes a too-large bite of his sandwich to push them down and chews slowly before swallowing. He takes a long drink of his tea before responding and by then his voice is calm, steady. “I’m glad you like it.”

They eat in silence for a while, snuggled under the blanket with warm air wafting across their faces. It really is perfect, just this, with no bells and whistles, no grand gestures. Just him and Cas and the peacefulness, like some pocket of space carved out of reality just for them.

It isn’t though and when the heater starts to sputter as it runs out of fuel, Dean laughs and switches it off. It’s amazing how cold it gets so quickly without the constant heat. “So much for my bright idea.”

Cas stands up and stretches, a full body shiver moving through him when the cold air on the outside of the blanket hits him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dean. We should get going anyway,” he says with a small frown. He pulls out his phone and glances at the time. “As long as there isn’t more?”

Dean chuckles and gathers everything up for the trek back to the car. “I am awesome, but no, this is pretty much all I could come up with.” Cas takes his hand as they walk, and Dean will pretty much never get tired of that.

After they load everything back into the car, Dean heads into Lawrence, following Cas’ directions. He’s not really sure what Cas might have planned for a Saturday afternoon, but although it may be corny to admit it, he doesn’t really care as long as they’re together. He’s come to realize that just being with Cas is enough to make him happy.

When Cas’ directions lead them to the historic district on Massachusetts Street, just a few blocks from Supersonic, Dean wonders idly about taking Cas down to meet Garth. He’s distracted when Cas directs him into a space farther up the street. Looking around, he’s not sure what they’re there for.

“It’s back about a block,” Cas says, getting out of the car. He waits on the sidewalk until Dean walks around the car, then takes his hand. His skin is warm despite the chill in the air. “There weren’t any parking spots.”

They walk hand-in-hand, enjoying the unseasonable warmth along with the crowds of window shoppers brought out by the break in the weather. Dean lets his mind wander as they walk until Cas is pulling him to a stop in front of a small storefront.

“A bookstore?” he asks, glancing up at the sign over the window. _Signs of Life_. Not exactly what he was expecting.

Cas smiles and pulls the door open, letting go of Dean’s hand to usher him inside. “It is a bookstore, and a café, but they also have an art gallery upstairs.”

Dean looks around the bright, friendly space in confusion. “You’re taking me to an art gallery?” Definitely something he’d never done before.

“They’re adding three new artists to their collection today, so they’re having a reception. I used to come here a lot, but it’s harder to get away when school is in session,” Cas explains, leading Dean past book shelves, low coffee tables, and wing back chairs to the stairs in the back corner. He glances back at Dean and his smile falters. “Is this not okay?”

Dean gives himself a mental kick. This might be a little out of his comfort zone, but it’s important to Cas. He smiles and brings Cas’ hand up to brush his lips over his knuckles. “Of course it is. I just, I’ve never done anything like this before. Always figured art galleries were kinda hoity-toity. You know, not really my cup of tea.”

Cas’ distress drains away; his smile growing again. “Don’t let Patty hear you say that. This place is about as far opposite from ‘hoity-toity’ as you can get,” he says, punctuating with air quotes.

He leads Dean up the stairs into a giant room that is more what Dean expects from an art gallery. Open and airy, with rich hardwood floors, white walls, and track lighting set to highlight the paintings, photographs, and sculptures on display. There are dozens of people milling around, but Dean is happy to see that they are all dressed just as casually as he and Cas are.

Cas squeezes his hand and chuckles. “There are other galleries that are more upscale, but I figured this would be more comfortable for you.”

“It’s not bad, not what I was expecting.”

Cas beams. He steers Dean toward the back of the room, stopping in front of a giant canvas covered in random squiggles and splotches of paint. Dean glances around to make sure no one can hear him before he whispers, “It looks like something Ben painted.”

Lips twitching, Cas shrugs. “I’m not much for abstract art either.”

While there are more pieces that confuse Dean, there are plenty that appeal to him as well. He stops for a long time in front of a black-and-white photo of a ’66 Mustang sitting alone in a parking lot at the beach, white-capped waves reaching into the sky behind it.  Something about the picture makes him sad though he’d be hard-pressed to explain why.

“He’s here, you know,” a strong female voice says from behind them.

They turn and Cas’ face lights up. “Patty, you look wonderful!”

The elderly woman smiles, lifting one hand to pat her elegant silver hair. “Of course I do, Castiel. I pay quite a bit to look this good,” she says with a sharp grin that lights up her piercing blue eyes. “We haven’t seen you in a while and now you bring me this handsome specimen?”

Dean’s eyes shoot to Cas, but the other man just grins. “This is Dean, my, ah—”

“Boyfriend,” Dean cuts in with a smile. He’s not sure if that’s what Cas would call him, but it feels right.

“Patricia Newman,” she responds, returning his smile, “but you can me Patty. Patricia was my grandmother and I refuse to be reminded that I’m getting old.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about on the front,” Dean offers, earning him a wink and grin.

“Dean’s never been to an art gallery before,” Castiel shares, “but I knew he’d feel at home here.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Castiel. It’s always been my belief that art should be enjoyed by everyone, not just rich socialites.” She inclines her head toward the photo Dean had been admiring. “As I was saying earlier, he’s here, the photographer, if you’d like to meet him.”

Dean blanches, but Patty cackles. “Stop looking like I’m throwing you to the wolves, boy. He’s a thirty-three-year-old construction worker who takes photographs in his spare time. I have a feeling the two of you would have a lot in common.”

Embarrassed by his initial reaction, Dean assures her that he would love to talk to the artist. When Patty starts to lead him away from Cas, though, the other man laughs at what he is sure is a look of terror. “I’m going to run to the restroom, Dean. You’re perfectly safe with Patty.”

Castiel is, of course, right as usual. Not only does Patty introduce him to Hank Nettles, the photographer in question, but a murmured word to a passing waiter nets them two bottles of IPA from Patty’s brother’s microbrewery.

“No kidding, a restored ’67 Impala?” Hank exclaims, taking a deeper drink of his beer than he probably should considering that he’s a guest of honor. Dean figures he’s not the only one uncomfortable in a place like this. “Man, I’d love to use it in some shots. You’d be surprised how hard it is to find classic cars in this area.”

“Really? I just restored a ’87 Camaro if you’re interested in something a little newer, too. Cas, my, ah . . .” Dean trails off. It’s been a long time since he’s been uncomfortable with his sexual orientation, but he’s not sure he wants to put it on display.

“Boyfriend?” Hank asks, raising one eyebrow. “I saw you come in with him. I’m straight as an arrow, but I wouldn’t last long in the art scene if I was a bigot.”

Dean chuckles and shakes his head. “Yeah, my boyfriend. We’ve only been together for a couple weeks. Guess it’s still new.”  Dean glances around the crowd behind Hank to see if Cas has returned, but he doesn’t see him.

“And you want to get back to him,” Hank intuits. He pulls a card from his pocket and passes it to Dean. “You go find your man. I should do some more mingling anyway, but give me a call or something. I wasn’t joking about wanting to take some pictures of your car.”

Dean slides the card into his jacket pocket and slips away as Hank greets a young couple interested in another one of his photos. There are lots of nooks and crannies in the gallery so it isn’t surprising that Dean can’t see Cas immediately, but after a few minutes, he’s a little rattled.

He’s on his third circuit of the room, excusing himself as he pushes past the crowd gathered around a sculpture that looks somewhat like a glass mealworm when he hears Cas’ voice. It’s rough with an edge that Dean doesn’t quite recognize. There’s anger, like that day with the douche car salesman, but mixed with something else. He can’t make out the words, but something about the tone makes Dean’s gut twist.

Skirting the edge of the room, he turns at the end of a long wall and finds himself in a dimly lit alcove. Cas is standing with his back to Dean, but even from this distance, his posture looks stiff and distressed. A man is standing with him, dark hair shaved into a crew cut with an angular stubbled jaw and an expensive suit. He’s too close for Dean’s comfort, especially given the way Cas is acting, with one hand resting possessively on Cas’ forearm.

Dean stalks forward and as he gets closer, he can see that Cas is trembling, just a fine quiver that makes Dean go red hot with anger. “Cas?” he calls, louder than necessary, but with enough force that it startles Cas out of whatever fugue state he’d been in.

He turns wide eyes on Dean, the blue gaze even more defined against the unusual paleness of his skin. When Dean reaches him, Cas steps closer and seems to crumple into himself, hand grabbing reflexively at Dean’s bicep. “Is everything okay?” Dean manages though his arm is shaking with the effort of restrained violence.

“Castiel and I were just catching up,” the dark-haired man says smoothly and his lips quirk up into a smirk that does nothing to cool Dean’s rage.

Cas presses one hand against Dean’s cheek, turning him away from the other man. “It’s fine,” he says shakily. “I’m fine. Can we just go?”

Dean frowns and pulls away enough to level a glare at the stranger. “Who is this asshole, Cas? Was he bothering you?”

The dark-haired man scoffs and shoves both hands in his pockets insolently as if he’s not afraid that he might have to defend himself against Dean. “Castiel and I are old friends.”

Dean’s gaze whips back to Cas. “That true? Don’t seem like friends to me.”

Cas takes a step away, toward the exit, and tugs on Dean’s arm harder. “Please, Dean,” he appeals more insistently. “Let’s just go. I’ll explain, but please let’s just get out of here.”

Dean is frozen with warring emotions; part desire to help Cas and part need to put this motherfucker in his place. Finally, it’s the panicked look in Cas’ eyes that makes the decision for him. He allows Cas to pull him along, ignoring the chuckle from behind him.

As Cas pulls him toward the stairs, though, the man in the alcove calls after them, “It was good to see you, Castiel. I hope we run into each other again soon.”

A bolt of red hot fury shoots through Dean and he turns back. “Listen here, you piece of shit,” he growls. “I don’t give a fuck who you are or how you know Cas, you stay the fuck away from him. You ever come near him again and I will break both of your fucking legs, that’s a fucking promise.”

The man narrows his eyes at Dean’s threat, something like ice and contempt in his expression, but he doesn’t respond. Dean allows Cas to pull him down the stairs and out onto the street. He expects Cas to stop and explain once they’re out of the gallery, but he doesn’t. He just bundles his coat around himself and starts toward the car, leaving Dean standing there confused.

Dean jogs to catch up and winds his arm around Cas’ waist. “Talk to me, man. Who the hell was that?”

Cas’ voice is steady when he answers, but Dean can hear a twinge that tells him everything is not okay. “Let’s just get to the car, Dean. I’ll explain, I promise. I just need, I need to be away from here, okay?” He turns his face into Dean’s shoulder. “Okay?” he mumbles into the fabric.

Dean swallows hard. “Okay, yeah, I got you.”

When they get to the car, Dean opens Cas’ door first and gets the other man settled. Still not really sure what happened, he’s uneasy enough to know that there’s some kind of ugly past between them. Dean slides behind the wheel but doesn’t start the car. He waits for Cas to say something, but he just stares straight ahead out the windshield. There’s a faraway look in his eyes.

Dean waits, but after a few minutes, Cas still hasn’t spoken. He desperately wants to demand answers, but he senses that it won’t end well. Instead, he starts the car and heads toward Cas’ house. Ben needs to be picked up in just under forty-five minutes, but Dean had been expecting to swing by Sam’s on the way back out of the city. If he has to take Cas home first he’ll be cutting it close, but there’s no way he wants Ben to see Cas so shaken. He would just ask Sam to keep Ben longer, but he made it clear when they dropped him off that he has to leave by three-thirty for some kind of work thing. Dammit.

Just after crossing the bridge back into North Lawrence, Dean glances over at Cas. Some of the color has returned to his face, making him look a little less wrung out, so Dean risks the question. “Are you okay?”

Cas turns toward him and Dean is relieved to see that the spacy, distant look is gone. He licks his lips before answering. “I’m okay. I’m sorry. I just, I wasn’t expecting, I just wasn’t prepared.”

“You know him?”

Cas shudders; a fine tremor that passes through his entire body. “I knew him,” he admits with a soft laugh, “or at least I thought I did. Malachi was, is, an ex. We lived together for over a year. It was, to put it mildly, not a good breakup.”

Dean heaves a breath. Okay, he suspected that, but it doesn’t explain the intensity of Cas’ reaction. They’re almost back to Cas’ house, but there’s no way he leaving without some kind of explanation. “That looked like a little more than a bad breakup, Cas,” he prods gently.

Cas closes his eyes and breathes deeply. He doesn’t open them when he answers. “I didn’t know he was released. He’s been in jail. He was sentenced to two years for assault, but it’s only been eighteen months. Probation, I suppose.”

There’s a sick twist in Dean’s gut. He doesn’t want to ask, but he has to know. “Assault against who?”

Cas opens his eyes, catches Dean’s gaze, then flicks away to the passing houses. “Against me,” he says softly. “There was a fight, over Meg of all things, and he attacked me. It wasn’t that bad, no worse than a bar fight, really, but it was just the last straw in an ugly relationship that went on too long. I’ve always suspected that Meg and my family had something to do with the stringency of his sentence.”

Dean is silent as he pulls the car into the driveway. He should have punched the motherfucker. He’s not even aware that he has balled his hand into a fist until Cas pries his fingers apart and twines them with his. “More violence won’t help anyone, Dean,” he whispers.

He huffs an ugly laugh. “It would make me feel better.”

Cas shakes his head sadly. “Not really, not for long. It’s okay, I’m okay. It was just a shock, seeing him there today and he acted, he acted like it was nothing, like we had just amicably parted ways. There’s always been a sick selfishness in him.”

“If he bothers you again, Cas, I swear to God—”

“I’ll tell you if he contacts me, I promise. I’ve moved on from it, Dean, but I won’t martyr myself for him. If he bothers me, I’ll take out a restraining order.”

Dean nods; a jerky movement that doesn’t come close to capturing everything he wants to say. He looks down at his watch. “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

“I know, but you have to get to Ben. We promised Sam. I’m okay.”

Dean waits until Cas unbuckles his seatbelt before reaching out and tugging the man against him. The warm, solid weight of Cas in his arms is soothing, but not nearly enough to battle the tension in him. He presses warm lips to Cas’ temple, then another chaste kiss on his lips. This was certainly not the ending to their day that he’d been hoping for. “I’ll call you,” he murmurs against Cas’ cheek.

Cas nods and pulls away, one hand reaching behind him to open the door. Dean grabs his hand before he can exit the car. “Call Meg,” he says gruffly. He may not like her, but there’s no doubt that she loves Cas. “Tell her what happened and ask her to come over. I don’t want you to be alone.”

Cas stares, searching his eyes, for a moment, then nods with a small smile. “I will.”

Dean waits until he closes the door behind him before he heads back into the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Grieving Lisa's death with a visit to her grave and confronting past physical assault


	23. Chapter 23

“I don’t like the green things,” Ben complains with a pout as Dean measures the oregano into the bowl of ground beef.

“You didn’t even know they were there last time. If you’re gonna complain, I’m sure I can find some work for you to do.” Dean checks the time on the stove as he adds breadcrumbs to the bowl and starts to mix it.

Ben exaggerates his grumpy expression even more. “I’ll go watch for Cas,” he announces just before running from the room.

Dean bites back a smile. With all the reading he’s done since Ben was diagnosed, Dean is just thankful that Ben isn’t a lot pickier than he is. He doesn’t like certain textures and he’s touchy about temperature, but overall he eats pretty well. The stories he has read about kids who will only eat one type of food or only things that are white made him realize how lucky he is.

After washing his hands in the sink, Dean starts to form meatballs and align them on a baking sheet. Although meatballs are a little time-consuming for a weeknight dinner, it ends up being worth it because he can freeze half the batch for later. He chuckles lightly. He’s sure come a long way from carryout pizza for five meals a week.

Bad Company plays softly from the Bluetooth speaker on the counter and he sings along as he works. He finishes the first tray and puts it in the oven, but the cauliflower he prepared earlier doesn’t go in for another ten minutes. Dipping his hands back into the meat mixture, he’s just starting the second tray for freezing when he hears a knock on the door.

“Cas is here, daddy! Can I open the door?” Ben calls from the living room. They’ve had several long talks about opening the door for strangers.

Dean looks down at his hands and sighs. “Go ahead, bug, as long as you can see through the window that it's Cas.”

He has two rows of meatballs formed when Ben leads Cas into the kitchen, chattering non-stop as usual.  “Anthony says it’s not true, but Dylan said not to believe him. Miss Blake told us if we didn’t stop arguing we wouldn’t have recess, but that’s not fair because I wasn’t even arguing. I was just listening.”

“That, I’m afraid, is the risk we take by the company we keep,” Cas says, attention solely on the boy beside him, allowing Dean to look his fill. Cas’ jeans look well worn, with the beginnings of a hole in the right knee. Although he’s wearing his usual long-sleeve button-down, he’s left it unbuttoned to show the snug black t-shirt underneath. Cas looks amazing and Dean’s fingers twitch with the urge to thread through his belt loops and tug him forward.

Caught up in the fantasy of what would happen next, he doesn’t realize Ben is talking to him until Cas clears his throat. “I put Cas’ coat in the closet. Is that right, daddy?”

Cas meets his eyes over Ben’s head with a small smirk that should look out of place in contrast to the other man’s usual composure. Dean swallows heavily, willing away the spike of heat this little twitch of Cas’ lips causes. “Ah, yeah, bud, that’s right. Go ahead and put the plates and stuff on the table, okay?”

Ben collects the small pile of dishes and utensils and runs off toward the dining room. As soon as he clears the corner, Cas grins and steps forward into Dean’s space. “Hello, Dean,” he says softly, intense gaze sweeping over Dean’s face. He leans in, as if for a kiss, then stops short at the sound of dishes clattering in the other room.

Dean sighs and holds up his meat-covered hands. “I’d give you a hug, but,” he trails off with a smile.

Cas waves him away. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“The meatballs are already in the oven. I’m just making the rest of these to freeze, but you can throw the cauliflower in.” He motions toward a large plastic bag on the counter. “I already mixed it up. Just dump it in the casserole dish there and put it in the oven.”

He does as directed then turns to Dean, who is finishing shaping the last meatball. “Meg won’t let me help when she’s cooking other than to chop things.”

Dean washes his hands and crimps foil over the pan of meatballs before sliding it into the freezer. He raises one eyebrow. “Meg cook for you a lot?”

Cas flushes. “Often enough. I’m generally a waste in the kitchen. If it doesn’t come out of a can or a box, I’m better off not touching it. Menace is the word Meg used, I believe,” he says with a dry laugh.

Dean narrows his eyes. “You just need the right teacher. Come here and stir the sauce while I get the noodles ready.”

“Do you really think that’s wise, Dean? If I ruin it—”

“You’re stirring it, not a whole lot to mess up there, man,” Dean cuts in with a laugh. Cas takes the spoon Dean offers gingerly and stirs the sauce while Dean puts a pan of water on for the noodles. They work together side by side with Dean giving Cas sporadic directions. When they finally have everything on the table, Dean gives him a wide smile. “See, wasn’t that hard.”

“You did all the real cooking, Dean. I hardly did anything but stir and put it in bowls.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine. Next time, you’re here from the beginning. We’re gonna turn you into a cook yet.” The thought of next time, of Cas in his kitchen and in his life, fills Dean’s chest with warmth.

The meal is nice. Dean is sure there is some other word for it, but nice is really all he can come up with. Having Cas sitting across him while Ben entertains them with stories about school leaves Dean feeling happy and relaxed in a way he hasn’t felt in years. Every now and then, Cas’ foot brushes against his leg under the table and he smiles, unable to meet Cas’ eyes with Ben sitting right there.

Despite the pleasantness and tranquility of the meal, Dean watches Cas closely whenever the other man isn’t looking. They haven’t talked about Malachi again since Saturday and every time Dean asks, Cas assures him that he is fine. There’s a tension in his voice, though, that makes Dean think he isn’t completely over the shock.

He puts it out of his mind when Ben announces that he finished his homework. “Even what Mr. Tran gave me,” he says proudly. Dean has been amazed by the work Ben has been doing for the Gifted teacher, most of it way above what he would think a five-year-old should be able to do. “So we can watch _E.T._ , right? You promised we could watch it even though we saw it before, ‘cause _E.T._ is from outer space and he’s got to go home.”

Dean raises both eyebrows in a comical waggle. “Whatcha say Cas? Wanna watch _E.T._ go home?”

Cas agrees with a grin. Between the three of them, it doesn’t take long to clear the table and fill the dishwasher. That warm, fuzzy feeling in Dean’s chest is back at the way they move so easily together, rinsing and stacking. Dean never thought domesticity could be such a freaking turn on.

Ben and Cas are already set up in the living room when Dean comes out of the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn and drinks. Ben is in the middle of the couch, but Cas has taken the seat on the far end that Dean has come to think of as Cas’ spot. The smile that breaks is so wide that Cas looks at him strangely as he sits down.

Dean sits on Ben’s other side. He slides down so that Ben is wedged between them and starts the movie. Ben is engrossed immediately, but Dean is incredibly unfocused. It isn’t that _E.T._ isn’t a good movie, but he’s seen it a half dozen times and the little noises Cas makes as they watch are extremely distracting. Small gasps and soft laughter escape, drawing Dean’s attention away from the movie.

Ben recited lines from the movie, as is their tradition, but Dean is too preoccupied to keep up. Under the guise of making himself more comfortable, he shifts and stretches his arm along the back of the couch above Ben’s head before settling back in. Cas looks over at him intently for a moment, but Dean just shrugs innocently.

He waits, biding his time, until finally, with just a minute adjustment, his fingertips find the silky hair at the back of Cas’ neck. The action scene on the television swallows Cas’ tiny inhalation at the contact, but he doesn’t look over at Dean. He stares straight ahead and the way he tilts his head back just slightly into Dean’s hand is the only indication that he felt the whisper soft touch

After a few moments, he shifts his fingers slightly, pressing them deeper into Cas’ hair until the pad of his thumb drags across the soft skin just below Cas’ ear. Cas doesn’t make a noise this time, but Dean watches out of the corner of his eye as Cas’ eyelids flutter closed. He tilts his head to the side so allow Dean greater access and Dean imagines dragging his lips over that spot instead of his fingertips.

The gradual tightening of his pants reminds him that they aren’t alone and that the last thing he wants is to be sporting a boner sitting next to his son on the couch. He shifts and pulls his hand away though every part of him wants to tighten his hold on Cas’ neck and pull him in instead. “Anyone need anything?” he asks awkwardly, turning away quickly so that his condition isn’t apparent.

Dean lingers in the kitchen long enough for any residual arousal to die down. Of course, if he goes back out and starts touching Cas again, it’s not really going to matter. Heading back into the living room, he resolves to keep his hands to himself.

That plan is cut short when he walks around the couch as sees that Ben has slid to the far end of the couch from Cas, leaving either the middle cushion between them or the recliner for Dean. He raises one eyebrow at Cas, who shrugs. “Hey, bug, you stole my seat,” he jokes.

Ben rolls his eyes in what Dean knows is probably a perfect imitation of himself. “I moved so you can sit by Cas.”

Dean’s eyes widen and he finds himself looking at Cas again, who shrugs a second time. He looks just as confused as Dean feels. “Why do I need to sit by Cas?”

“So you can hold his hand.”

Dean is really glad that isn’t drinking anything, because he’s fairly certain that he would have spit it everywhere. Cas is laughing silently now, the asshole, and Dean can’t even meet his eyes. “Why do you think I wanna hold Cas’ hand?” he manages to spit out.

Ben flicks his eyes to Dean and then quickly back to the television. “I’m gonna be six soon, daddy. I know people hold hands when they like each other.” He gives a small shrug as if that’s the end of the discussion.

It certainly isn’t the end, though. Dean gapes at his son until Cas takes pity on him. “Only people who like each other in a very special way hold hands,” Cas says slowly though he’s looking at Dean and not Ben.

Ben rolls his eyes again and finally looks away from the television. He settles his gaze on Cas. “I know that, but daddy likes you in the special way that makes him want to hold your hand. He gets all smiley when he looks at you like Uncle Sam does when he looks at Aunt Jess and they hold hands all the time.” Ben looks up at Dean and tilts his head in a way that is eerily similar to Cas. “That’s right, daddy?”

Dean is floored. He’s apparently not really as subtle as he thinks. “Uh, yeah, Ben, you’re right,” he says, looking at Cas. The soft look in the other man’s eyes tells Dean that he answered correctly. “I do want to hold Cas’ hand. You’d be okay with that?” Ben nods and Dean sits on the couch between Ben and Cas. He reaches for Cas’ hand and is grateful when the other man twines their fingers together immediately.

Ben watches them for a minute, completely ignoring the television now. His mouth screws up the way it does when he’s thinking and his fingers are tapping repeatedly together in his lap. Finally, he says gravely, “But not like you and Ash?”

Dean’s eyes widen again and he very carefully does not look at Cas. “What do you mean?”

Ben shrugs, his tiny form folding in on itself. “You and Ash don’t hold hands. You seem mad at him sometimes and you don’t smile,” he says slowly as if he’s testing the words. “But you kiss, ‘cause I saw you. Is there another special way to like someone?”

Wow, awkward. Dean always figured Ben would at least be in his teens before he had to worry about explaining _friends with benefits_. Cas’ fingers spasm, but he doesn’t pull away. Dean can’t bring himself to look at him, so he keeps his eyes on Ben as he tries to figure out how to explain. “Uh, well, me and Ash, we used to like each other that way, in the special way, before you were born.”

Ben nods. “But Ash moved to California and you were sad, but then you met mommy and you got happy again ‘cause then you had me. I know, daddy, Grandma Ellen told me.”

Dean frowns. “Grandma Ellen talked to you about me and Ash?”

“Just ‘cause I asked. You were yelling at Ash on the phone and I asked her why you were so mad.”

Dean wishes he could pinpoint the fight Ben is talking about, but he and Ash fight so much sometimes that it’s impossible without more details. He just shrugs uncomfortably. “Okay, well, yeah, me and Ash, we figured out after Lisa, uh, after your mom died that we still liked each other in the kissing way,” Dean ends lamely. He feels Cas shaking slightly behind him and he knows he’s trying not to laugh at Dean’s embarrassment.

“So the kissing way and the hand holding way are different?”

Dean sighs. Shit. “Ah, sometimes.”

Ben nods. “So you and Cas just like the hand holding way?”

Dean does turn to Cas then. If he’s going to bare his soul to a five-year-old, he needs to make sure Cas is on board. The other man’s blue eyes are wide when Dean turns to him, but he gives an almost imperceptible nod. Dean nods in return and turns back to Ben. “Well, we might kiss sometimes too. Is that okay?”

“Just not too much,” Ben says, turning his attention back to the television. “Justin says his mommy kisses all the time and it makes his stomach hurt.”

Dean feels a little jerk of movement and then the muffled sounds of Cas trying to hold back his laughter again. He tightens his grip on Cas’ hand and pulls it up kiss his knuckles. Cas stops laughing.

There isn’t much of the movie left, but the clock on the DVD player shows that it’s time for Ben to start getting ready for bed anyway. Ben doesn’t complain when Dean turns off the movie and shoos him into the bathroom though he does ask if Cas will still be there when he gets out. Cas’ eyes are shining happily when he responds in the affirmative.

Dean runs the water and gets Ben set up with his toys before slipping back out to the living room. Cas is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, as if he’s unsure what to do with himself, so Dean reaches for his hand and tugs him forward. With Ben occupied in the tub, it’s the first chance he’s gotten to do what he’s been thinking about since Cas walked in.

He raises both hands to cup Cas’ jaw gently and pulls him in for a soft kiss, just a press of lips. Or at least, that’s what Dean intends. Cas apparently has other ideas, because a soft groan is Dean’s only warning before Cas is shoving him backward against the wall, mouth hot and insistent and so good it makes Dean lightheaded. A hard thigh wedges between his and Dean gasps at how amazing the friction feels as he grinds against it. Cas’ hands are at his waist, tugging his shirt up to slide against his bare skin. Dean presses forward, licking into Cas’ mouth and—

“Daddy! I’m ready for my hair wash!”

Dean freezes, pulse racing in his ears, as Cas jumps away from him in shock, hands clenching rhythmically. The look of horror on Cas’ face would be comical if Dean wasn’t sure he’s wearing the same expression.

“Ah, I’m coming,” Dean calls, then flushes when Cas raises one eyebrow at his poor choice of words. Dean clears his throat and tries again. “I’ll be right there, Ben.”

Cas steps forward and Dean drops his forehead to press against his. “I hate you,” Dean groans softly.

Cas chuckles. “You want to hold my hand,” he teases, his voice so lust-roughened that the sing-song sounds dirty instead of playful.

Dean groans again, hips bucking forward involuntarily to rub his erection against Cas’ answering hardness. “I really, really hate you,” he repeats, but he laughs as he releases Cas to go check on his son.

Bath time, pajamas, snack, and brush his teeth. Cas helps where he can, sometimes anticipating something that needs to be done and doing it before Dean even gets the chance to mention it. It goes so smoothly that Dean finds himself tucking Ben in a full fifteen minutes earlier than usual.

Not wanting to give Ben the chance to notice, he quickly goes to his bedroom for his guitar. Taking a moment to tune it, Dean hears the low rumble of Cas’ voice from the other room. When he comes around the corner from the hallway, Cas is sitting on the edge of Ben’s bed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Though Cas doesn’t say a word when he walks out, Dean can see the unshed tears glistening in his eyes.

Ben is asleep by the time Dean gets to the final verse of _Wild Mountain Thyme_. He slips out of the room and puts the guitar away before finding Cas in the living room. He’s standing in front of the picture window, staring out into the night.

“Hey,” Dean murmurs, stepping up behind him. He slides his arms around Cas’ waist and rests his chin on the other man’s shoulder, watching their reflection in the glass. It gives Dean chills to watch how Cas leans into him, raising his hands to cross them over Dean’s arms on his stomach. “I’m glad you could come over tonight.”

Cas smiles and meets Dean’s eyes in their reflection. “I am too.” He squeezes Dean’s arms, then turns in the circle of the embrace so that they’re facing each other. “I like this,” he breathes, pressing his cheek against Deans. “I like spending time with you both.”

Dean shifts, tilting his head slightly to drag his lips over Cas’ jaw, the rasp of his stubble making them tingle pleasantly. A full body shudder goes through Cas before he turns as well and seals his lips over Dean’s. Wasting no time at all, he’s licking into Dean’s mouth almost before Dean processes the shift in mood. Not letting up on the intensity of the kiss at all, Cas walks them backward until the backs of Dean’s legs hit the couch and they tumble in a heap of heat and wet suction, Cas settled firmly in the vee of Dean’s legs.

Shuffling further up the couch so that Cas can stretch out on top of him, Dean is lost in sensation. Cas, apparently satisfied with mapping every corner of Dean’s mouth, shifts away to press wet kisses to his cheek, down his jaw, and across his neck, pushing his shirt to the side to suck a wet mark onto his collar bone. Dean slides his hands up to cup Cas’ ass, using the leverage to grind himself up against the other man.

“Dean,” Cas breathes into his neck, tongue tracing the veins across his throat and up to his ear on the other side. He sucks the lobe into his mouth, worrying it with teeth that are just on the pleasant side of pain, and Dean bucks against him.

Dean turns to capture Cas’ mouth again as Cas slides one hand under Dean’s shirt, fingers splaying across his ribs where he has hiked the shirt up. This time, when Dean rolls his hips up, Cas grinds down to meet him, shooting pleasure like sparks across his skin, so Dean does it again. “Cas,” Dean pants, tipping his head back again so that Cas can lick and bite the skin in the hollow of his throat. “You feel so good. God, Cas, yes, right there.”

They’ve gotten a rhythm going now, rutting against each other, chasing the friction when either of them pulls away too soon. Dean slides his hands from where he was pulling down on Cas’ ass, up under his shirt. He’s entranced by the shift of muscles under Cas’ skin as they bunch and release each time he rolls his hips.

“Need you, Cas, god, come to bed with me, stay,” Dean mumbles against Cas’ mouth, barely aware of what he’s saying as he’s so focused on the way Cas’ body moves against his. Another long undulating shudder rolls through Cas just before he pulls away, dropping his forehead to Dean’s chest as he takes in big gasps of air.

“I can’t, Dean,” he rasps, voice rough and so much lower than even his usual gravel. “We can’t.” He braces his arms against the couch along Dean’s body and starts to push himself away.

“We can, Cas, we can,” Dean gasps, using his hands spread over Cas’ lower back to hold him in place. “I’ve been waiting so long to touch you.”

Cas shakes his head and tries harder to pull away, but inadvertently drives his hips down against Dean, dragging a prolonged moan of out both of them. Despite the way his voice cracks with desire, Cas is adamant. “Not with Ben right there. Dean, let me up.”

Reluctantly, and not without rubbing against him one more time, Dean releases him and Cas sits up. Dean forces himself up as well, trying to ignore the way his jeans have become uncomfortably tight. “We can be quiet, Cas.  Ben won’t even know you’re here.”

Cas raises one eyebrow. “What if I don’t want to be quiet?” he asks shakily, running one hand through his already disheveled hair.

Dean is making a major effort of trying to calm his raging hard-on, but the image conjured by Cas’ words has him fully hard again in a split second. The thought of all the noises Cas might make, his husky voice ragged with screams of pleasure, makes Dean think about dragging him down the hallway anyway. Ben’s always been a heavy sleeper once he’s out.

“I know this waiting thing was my idea, but honestly, man, I don’t know how much longer I can survive without touching you,” he says instead.

Cas nods, a small smile growing slowly across his lips. “Can you get a sitter for Friday?”

Dean swallows hard, eyes wide. “I can ask Ellen or Sammy to watch him.”

Cas pushes himself up from the couch, and the soft, worn denim he wears shows that Dean isn’t the only one having problems controlling his erection. “Good. We’ll have dinner at my house,” he says with a perfunctory nod. He walks across the room, leaving Dean sitting alone and aroused on the couch. He pulls his coat from the closet, then opens the door. He pauses and turns back with a smirk. “Oh, and Dean?” he adds just before he shuts the door behind him. “Pack a bag. You’ll be staying over.”

* * *

* * *

Baked garlic parmesan chicken is a little fancier than what Castiel usually makes for dinner, but Meg assures him that she is happy to help. Of course, after the fourth dirty comment she makes, Castiel realizes that sharing her cooking expertise isn’t her sole motivation.

“Did you stock up on protection?” she asks, sliding the pan of seasoned chicken into the oven. “I’ve heard good things about the ribbed for her pleasure.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I am not discussing my sex life with you, Meg. It’s frankly a little disturbing.”

“Just lookin’ out for you, Clarence. I’m actually kind of proud of you, invitin’ Dean-o over for a booty call,” she retorts with a grin and an obscene gesture.

“It isn’t a booty call.”

Meg shakes her head. “You invited him over with the express purpose of getting laid. That, my dear Castiel, is the definition of a booty call.”

Castiel turns away with an annoyed huff. “We’re having dinner. This is a date. If a date leads to sex, it’s still a date.”

Meg slaps him on the back with a cackle. “Forty-five minutes ago you didn’t even know what you were going to serve him to eat, so I’m pretty sure you’ve been planning all week on him just eating you.”

“Meg,” he chastises, but it isn’t like he can even be upset with her. After all, she’s the one who agreed to come over on such short notice and cook for him when he called in a panic over not having anything to prepare for dinner. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve done this. Could you do your best not to make it any more difficult?”

Meg softens and slides one arm around his waist. “I know. It’ll be fine. Like riding a bike.” Then, with a filthy glint in her eye, “Unless it’s been so long that you don’t remember where all the parts go. I’ve never actually had gay man-on-man sex, but I’m sure I could probably draw you a cheat sheet.”

Castiel snags the dish towel from the counter and snaps it at her. “Enough. Thank you very much for your help, but I think it’s time you’re going,” he directs, herding her toward the door. “The last thing I need is for you to be here when Dean arrives.”

She stops at the door and pulls on her long wool coat. “He’s going to find out eventually that you can’t cook.”

“He knows I can’t cook, Meg.”

She throws her hands up in an exaggerated sigh. “How am I supposed to get an adequate dowry for you if he knows you can’t be a good wife? For fuck’s sake, Clarence.”

Castiel squints at her and shakes his head fondly. “There are so many things wrong with that sentence, I don’t even know where to begin.”

She grins then and wraps her arms around his waist in an actual hug. “Have fun tonight. Don’t freak yourself out. Just relax and go with it.”

He kisses the top of her head. “Thanks, Meg. For everything.”

He closes the door behind her and wanders back into the kitchen to wipe down the counters before Dean arrives. He already set the table, changed the sheets on his bed, and set out clean towels in the bathroom. A little presumptuous, he supposes, but he has always figured it’s better to be prepared.

The week has been a roller coaster of emotions. To say that Meg had been less than thrilled to find out about Malachi would be a vast understatement. Castiel called her as he was walking into the house after Dean dropped him off and Meg was pulling in not ten minutes later. There was a lot of ranting and threats of bodily harm, but the evening had ended with the two of them curled on the couch together watching old black and white movies.

The specter of Malachi stayed with him all week, making him tense and irritable. Up until that last night, he’d never been particularly frightened of the man. He has long since realized that the hateful barbs, accusations, and sulking were just as hurtful as any physical blows, but at the time he’d never considered the possibility of Malachi actually hurting him.

Regardless, the run-in has had him jumping at shadows. Meg insisted that he change all the locks after Malachi’s arrest, but he has still been checking them repeatedly every night before bed and every morning before work even though Malachi has made no attempt to contact him beyond their chance encounter. He feels foolish, but since double-checking the locks doesn’t hurt anyone, he continues to do it. Not even Juliet’s presence in the house has made him feel better.

The timer on the oven goes off and he’s plating the chicken along with the buttered potatoes when he hears Dean at the door. Juliet jumps up from where she was lounging beside the couch and races to the door. He slides the plates onto the warming rack and nervously runs his hands down over himself.  It seems silly, but it almost feels like losing his virginity all over again.

When Castiel opens the door, Dean looks slightly apprehensive, but his face lights up immediately. He steps through the door and pulls Castiel into a quick kiss before setting down the backpack he had slung over his shoulder and giving Juliet a pat on the head. So he’d taken Castiel’s advice to pack a bag seriously.

“You look nervous,” he says softly, one hand on the back of Castiel’s neck to press their foreheads together. Dean gives him another soft kiss, this one lingering a few moments longer than the first and sighs. “Don’t be nervous.”

Castiel thinks about denying that he’s nervous, then answers with a sigh of his own. “It’s been a long since I’ve, well, since I’ve done this.”

Dean smiles and runs gentle hands down his sides. Castiel is glad he decided on a t-shirt tonight because the heat of Dean’s hands through the soft drag of the fabric against his skin feels amazing. “We don’t have to do anything,” Dean says, but the ways his hands slip lower to cup Castiel’s hips sends a different message.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to,” Castiel says with a small smile. “Just that my skills might be a little rusty.”

Dean pulls him in for another kiss, this one a little sloppier, a little dirtier than the last and it leaves them both panting. “Practice makes perfect,” he says with a smirk.

“On that note, we better eat something so we can keep our energy up,” Castiel teases, pulling away to lead him into the kitchen. He takes the plates from the warmer and Dean follows him into the dining room, letting out a low whistle when he sees the table complete with candles.

“Wow, Cas, this is awesome. I gotta up my game or something.”

Castiel smiles and sets the plates down at seats diagonal from each other at one end of the table. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your game, Dean.”

As usual, conversation flows easily between them. It seems to Castiel that they will never run out of things to talk about. They linger at the table even after their meals are done, neither making an attempt to move the evening forward. They lean together as they talk, casual touches becoming more frequent, until finally, Dean runs one finger up the soft inside of Castiel’s arm.

A shiver runs through him that has nothing to do with the temperature. Castiel meets Dean’s eyes and the heat reflected there makes his pulse jump. He clears his throat and rushes to stack the dishes, suddenly eager to get to the rest of the evening.

Dean takes one hand and pulls him up from the table. Together they carry the dishes to the kitchen and against Castiel’s usual routine, he just sets them in the sink. As soon as Castiel’s hands are empty, Dean slides one hand around to cup his hip and pull him forward.

“When you said it’s been a while, how long are we talking?” Dean murmurs, burying his face in Castiel’s neck and inhaling deeply.

Castiel’s breath hitches when Dean presses a series of tiny kisses beneath his ear. “Ah, a little over two years.”

Dean pulls back to meet his eyes. “That asshole, Malachi?”

Castiel nods, eyes flicking away before he forces himself to look back. Dean growls, a soft sound that sends a spark of heat coursing through him, and his green eyes darken. He slides both hands up Castiel’s back, under his shirt, palms rough against the skin. “No one else? In two years?” he asks, palms sliding up and down, eliciting another shiver.

“No,” Castiel almost chokes on his own tongue as his head lolls to the side so that Dean can press another line of wet, hot kisses there. “I, ah, there was no one I was interested in and, yes, Dean, right there, god, your mouth is so hot.” He blinks his eyes rapidly to clear his head, but the way Dean is sucking at the hollow of his throat negates any benefit. “And, ah, I’m not really interested in casual sex.”

Dean pulls back then and he looks embarrassed. Castiel rushes to reassure him. “I’m not, there’s no moral stance against it, Dean. Being intimate with a stranger is just not fulfilling for me.”

Dean studies his face, eyes narrowed, then nods. “There won’t be anything casual about this, Cas,” he says, voice rough.

Castiel swallows hard and steps back, missing the feel of Dean’s hands on him already. He can’t imagine a time when he won’t want Dean’s hands on him. “Come to bed with me, Dean,” he says, taking one hand.

Dean’s eyes darken again and he releases a long sigh of air that ends on a groan. “Lead the way.”

Castiel leads him up the stairs, stepping back to allow him to enter, then closing the door on Juliet, who whines softly. Dean chuckles, but wastes no time, spinning Castiel around to press him back against the door. He darts in for a quick, teasing kiss, then pulls away, his body keeping Castiel pinned. He toys with the bottom edges of Castiel’s t-shirt, fingertips slipping under to tease skin before sliding away again. “Ever since you told me about your tattoos, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about getting you out of this shirt, Cas.”

He’s not sure what response Dean was expecting, but his look of surprise when Castiel reaches down and quickly pulls the t-shirt over his head suggests that wasn’t it.” Dean drags his eyes over Castiel’s torso and the heat in his gaze is like a physical caress. When Dean traces his fingertips reverently over the shading and swirls of ink covering him, Castiel groans harshly and pushes back away from the door, propelling them across the room until they are falling onto the bed together.

Castiel isn’t sure who found whose mouth first, but once he’s kissing Dean he never wants to stop. Dean’s hands are sliding over his skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and Castiel uses one leg to push against the bed and flip them so that he’s on top, looking down at Dean. Dean’s hands don’t stop moving, teasing, smoothing up his back and down to toy with the top edge of his jeans. Calloused fingers dip under the denim and dance along the uppermost edges of his buttocks until Castiel rolls his hips down, eliciting another groan from both of them.

“Too many clothes,” Castiel complains, breaking free of Dean’s mouth long enough to grab the bottom of the Dean’s shirt and push it up. Dean wiggles under him and helps Castiel push it over his head, until finally, Castiel can lower himself again with the smooth glide of bare skin against his chest.

Dean slides one hand between them and fumbles with the button on Castiel jeans. “Still too many clothes. Need to feel you. Come on, Cas. Need to get my hands on you.”

That’s all the motivation Castiel needs to slap Dean’s hand away and roughly thumb the button loose. He rolls off the bed and quickly shoves his jeans and underwear down in one movement. It isn’t until he looks back at the bed that he realizes Dean has done the same thing and he’s laid spread out, miles of skin and muscle, in the middle of the bed. Castiel bites back a groan and crawls onto the bed until he’s straddling Dean’s thighs. His cock, hard and weeping already, lays against his stomach and Castiel’s mouth waters.

He crawls forward, and his intent must be evident, because Dean’s hips buck slightly, making his cock jump. “I want you in my mouth, Dean,” he rumbles. Dean nods, as if that’s all the response he has enough higher functioning to give. “Are you clean?” Castiel asks, eyes meeting Dean’s. He hates this part, just one more reason to avoid meaningless hookups as if his uneasiness with touching random strangers wasn’t enough.

Dean nods again then clears his throat. “Yeah, I, ah, I’ve never gone without a condom,” he forces out as if speaking is a trial, “but I get tested every couple of months just to be on the safe side. I haven’t been with anyone since the last time I got tested.”

Castiel hums appreciatively. “Me too, which is good, because I want to taste you.” He doesn’t hear Dean’s response, if he gives one, because it's lost in the loud moan Dean lets out when Castiel circles his cock with one hand and swallows him down as far as he can in one smooth slide. He’s out of practice, so it’s only two-thirds of Dean’s length before the head triggers his gag reflex, but he slides his tongue around, up and down, curling over the head as he pulls back up. Dean moans loudly again and then his hands are twisting into Castiel’s hair, pushing him back down. Castiel goes willingly, taking him a little deeper this time, his hand still circling and pumping the length he can’t quite get into his mouth.

The taste, slightly salty with a bitter edge, as well as the smooth, heavy weight of Dean in his mouth is intoxicating. He bobs his head, tongue laving against the underside and up to tease the slit before sinking back down again. “Jesus, fuck, your mouth is so fucking hot, so good, Cas, so good,” Dean babbles when Castiel pushes down again, allowing the thick head to bump the back of his throat. He swallows around it, experimentally, just to see if he can, and he’s rewarded with a long, low groan and Dean’s hands tightening in his hair.

Dean’s hips are moving now, smooth rolls that push his dick deeper into Castiel’s mouth with each shove, so Castiel closes his lips around the hard length and allows Dean to thrust up into his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, Cas, so fucking good. Your mouth is amazing.” A few more shallow thrusts and suddenly Dean is tugging on Castiel’s hair, pulling him away. Castiel fights the pressure for a moment, as much because he likes the sharp twist of pain that comes with the tug as because he doesn’t want to stop, but he eventually allows Dean to pull him away.

“Sweet Jesus,” Dean pants, one hand coming down to circle the base of his cock. “I could fucking live in your mouth. Holy hell.”

Castiel chuckles and slides up Dean’s body until they’re pressed together, chests to hips, and slots one leg between Deans. “That would make it hard to get anything done,” he says, his voice even more gravelly than usual. He forgot how much he loves that pleasant ache in his jaw that comes with giving a blow-job.

Dean bats at his shoulder and smiles. “Get up here, asshole.” He tugs Castiel down into another blinding, soul-drenching kiss, his mouth hot and insistent as he licks inside. Castiel meets him, tongues sliding together in a parody of the way they’ve started to grind their hips together. The feel of Dean’s cock sliding against his, the slight tug and drag when the head of his dick catches on Dean’s, everything about it is perfect, exquisite. Dean’s hands slide down to knead at his ass, fingers sliding up his spine and back down to tease at the cleft.

Castiel moans and ruts against him harder, pushing back so that Dean’s hand slips lower, maddeningly close but not close enough for the friction he’s looking for. He nips at Dean’s jaw, leaving tiny bites along the edge until he reaches the silky patch of skin just below his ear. “Fuck me, Dean. I want to feel you inside me,” he growls softly, his breath a warm whisper against Dean’s ear.

The effect is instantaneous. “God, yes, fuck, Cas. Wanna be in you, wanna feel you squeezing me.” He rolls them so that Castiel is on his back, looking up at Dean. “Please, for the love of god, tell me you have lube.”

Castiel chuckles and stretches across the bed to reach the nightstand then presses a half empty bottle of lube and a strip of three condoms into his hand. Dean raises an eyebrow. “Feeling optimistic?”

Castiel shrugs and shifts to spread his legs, an unsubtle hint if ever there was one. Thankfully, Dean gets the message and quickly tears off one of the condoms, tossing the rest back onto the nightstand. Castiel watches him, unable to tear his eyes away, as Dean pops the cap open and drizzles the slippery liquid on two fingers. He kisses along Castiel’s collarbone, with enough pressure to leave at least light marks, but Castiel stops caring when Dean circles his rim with the pads of both fingers. “Relax for me, baby. Gonna make you feel so good, but you gotta let me in.”

Forcing his body to relax, Castiel lets his legs fall apart wider. The first press of Dean’s finger into his hole is both too much and not enough. He pushes down, eager to get past the burn, but Dean’s other hand comes up to rest on his abdomen. “Easy, Cas, easy. Nice and slow,” he says, finger shallowly thrusting in and out, just the up to the first knuckle. “Gonna get there, but we’re gonna take it real easy.” The hand on his stomach slides down until it’s circling his cock, making Castiel groan and thrust up into the tight clench of Dean’s hand. He runs his hand up the length, then down, matching his strokes with the thrust of his finger inside until Castiel is rocking back and forth, chasing both sensations.

How much later, Castiel couldn’t say, but there’s another stretch and burn when Dean adds a second finger. He starts to thrust deeper, scissoring them just slightly to add to the stretch, and Castiel can’t stop himself from rocking down again. “More, Dean. Another, you can add another,” he pants.

There’s a cold drizzle of lube at his entrance and then an even bigger stretch as Dean adds another finger. “That’s it, baby, you’re so hot in there, so soft, gonna feel so good wrapped around my dick,” Dean murmurs, leaning down to lick lightly at the head of Castiel’s cock.

“Dean, now, I’m ready. That’s enough, I’m ready. I need you inside me,” Castiel whimpers, the undulations of his body starting to lose their rhythm. One more deep press and Dean crooks his fingers enough that the calloused pads brush over his prostate, sending sparks singing along his nerve endings. “Now, Dean. Fuck me, Dean. Now.”

Whether it is the seldom used expletive or Dean had already decided he was ready, there’s an unpleasant empty feeling when Dean pulls his hand away to grab the condom on the bed. He strokes his length a few times, then using the hand that had been stroking Castiel and his teeth, he rips the packet open and rolls the condom over his cock.

“How do you want to do this, Cas?” he asks, still stroking himself.

“Like this, want to see you,” Castiel answer, bending his legs to give Dean more room.

There’s a moment when Dean’s thick cock head presses at his rim, always just a slight moment of fear when he’s convinced that it can’t possibly fit, and then he relaxes and Dean is pressing into him. Slowly, one tantalizing inch at a time, until he’s buried as deep as he can go. Castiel releases a long sigh of air he didn’t realize he was holding. It’s good, so good, the delicious burn and ache, that feeling of heat and fullness. “Move, Dean,” he whispers, drawing the other man down into a heated kiss.

And that’s it, all the encouragement Dean needs. He hooks Castiel’s legs over his forearms and pulls out slowly before sliding back in more quickly. Out again, then back in even faster, each thrust a long slide against Castiel’s insides that feels like molten fire. Within moments, Dean is plunging harder, faster, bottoming out on each thrust, and Castiel rolls his hips up to meet him. Soft grunts and moans, Dean murmuring a litany of dirty praise, it’s all just background noise to the pounding of Castiel’s heart.

On the next thrust, Dean angles his hips differently, making the head skate over his prostate. When Castiel’s body locks up in pleasure, Dean smirks and does it again. Before long, Dean isn’t the only one babbling. “Fuck, Dean, yes, right there, right there. I’m so close, so close. I want to feel you. Come in me, Dean,” he chants. He releases his death grip on Dean’s bicep to bring one hand down to circle his straining dick, but Dean drops one leg to bat him away.

“Mine,” Dean growls, circling his hand in a tight grip and stroking him with each thrust. It doesn’t take much more than that until Castiel is seizing up, muscles going rigid with pleasure, and that one split second when it feels like his heart will stop. He paints his stomach with his release and still Dean strokes him through it until he’s too sensitive to bear any more stimulation. Dean releases him, picks his leg back up, and thrusts another half dozen times before he’s following Castiel over the edge.

There’s such animalistic beauty in the way Dean stares right into Castiel’s eyes as his pleasure washes over him, until finally, he has to close them against the bliss. When he collapses forward; he has the presence of mind to roll to the side so he doesn’t crush Castiel under him, not that Castiel would have cared. He slips out and there’s a moment of fluttering emptiness, before he rolls onto his back and tugs Castiel over against him, not seeming to care that he’s smearing Castiel’s semen between them.

They lay together for a few moments until their breathing evens out and the chill in the air starts to raise goosebumps on the backs of Cas’ arms and legs. Though he loathes to, he shifts out of Dean’s arms enough to look up at him. “We need to get cleaned up,” he says, poking at Dean’s arm. Dean smiles and covers his eyes with one arm.

“That was awesome. I think I’m too fucked out to move,” he mutters.

Castiel pokes him again. “We’re both covered in spunk and I’m not sleeping like this, so one of us has to go get a washcloth,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to Dean’s shoulder as an incentive, “and I nominate you.”

Dean moves his arm far enough to give Castiel the stink-eye, then sighs and rolls off the bed. “You’re lucky I lo—, like you, you know that?” he says, walking quickly into the bathroom.

Once Dean’s back is turned, Castiel lets one eyebrow raise at Dean’s slip. He knows it’s just an adage, something people say to each other, that doesn’t really mean anything, but the way Dean tensed when he almost said ‘love’ instead of ‘like’ is interesting. Castiel is no closer to figuring out how he feels about that when Dean returns with not only a warm washcloth but also a glass of water from the bathroom sink.

Castiel accepts both and cleans himself off before drinking the water. It’s lukewarm from the tap, but better than nothing. He’ll have to remember to bring up cold bottles from downstairs next time. _Next time,_ he likes the sound of that.

Dean slides back into bed and pulls the covers up over them. He presses his chest against Castiel’s back, tangling their legs together and resting one hand possessively on his hip. Castiel smiles to himself. _Definitely a date._  


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one . . . 
> 
> We're heading into the home stretch, officially 2/3 of the way done. I also realized that as of last chapter, I've been posting weekly updates for this story for five months. I want to thank everyone who has risked reading a WIP by an unknown writer by taking this journey with me. The feedback and support you've given me is what keep me going.

The smooth glide of fabric against his cheek is Dean’s first clue that he isn’t in his own bed. He twists, trying to escape the long stripe of sunlight that has fallen across his eyes, and realizes that not only are the sheets too soft, but he’s completely naked, something that would never happen if he were at home in his own bed with Ben across the hall.

 _Cas_. He smiles at the thought, memories of the night before flooding his mind now that he’s fully awake. He rolls over, reaching out for the warm weight of another body but the bed is empty. Before he can wonder where Cas slipped off to, he hears a small noise, like a sigh, along with a faint scratching sound from the other side of the room.

The other man is curled up in the recliner in the opposite corner, his legs tucked under him. His chest and feet are bare though he has pulled on a pair of dark blue lounge pants. Dean can see the swirls of rich color and dark black lines that cover his torso and upper arms, but most of the art is obscured by the large tablet that Cas has balanced on his knees. He pauses, the pencil in his hand poised against the paper, and smiles when he sees Dean watching him.

“Good morning, Dean. Did you sleep well?”

Dean narrows his eyes. The low rasp of Cas’ voice, roughened by sleep and disuse, sends a jolt of arousal to his already half-hard dick and he wonders how difficult it would be to talk Cas back into bed. He doesn’t have to pick Ben up until noon. “Good. Man, I was dead to the world. You really tired me out.”

A small smile twists the corners of Cas’ mouth again, then he looks back down at the tablet in his hands. The pencil moves, short strokes followed by longer ones that glide across the paper. After a moment, he looks back up at Dean and studies him, considering, before looking back down,

“Are you drawing me?” Dean asks with a soft curl of embarrassment. He starts to shift toward the edge of the bed to get up.

“Wait,” Cas calls, holding up one hand. “Just stay there, a few more minutes.” He takes in Dean’s flushed cheeks and adds softly, “Please?”

Dean falls back against the pillows, pulling one arm up to prop underneath him so he can watch Cas. The other man is caught up in his work, brows pulled together as he squints at the paper, pencil moving in soft, quick back and forth movements that suggest he’s adding shading. Cas has mentioned before that his undergraduate degree is in art, but he doesn’t talk much about that time of his life so Dean hasn’t pushed. It makes sense, he supposes, that Cas took him to an art gallery. It makes Dean even angrier at Cas’ asshole ex for ruining it. “Am I gonna get to see it?” he asks as a way to avoid dwelling on the man with the dark eyes and fancy suit.

“You can when I’m done,” he says, then taps the pencil against his lips. “I suppose I should have asked for permission first, but you looked so peaceful I couldn’t resist.”

Dean shrugs. Other that a little residual embarrassment at being the object of such intense scrutiny, it’s not like he actually minds. He rests back against the pillows, letting his eyes drift shut, before he says, “Tell me about your tattoos.” He cracks one eye just long enough to see Cas stiffen, then relax with a sigh.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

Dean opens his eyes and looks down at his own naked chest before quirking one eyebrow at Cas. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Cas is quiet for long enough, focused on the pencil moving lightly across the page, that Dean isn’t sure he’s going to answer. “I wasn’t a rebellious child,” he says finally.

Dean doesn’t respond, just lets his eyes slip shut again in the hopes that not having Dean watching him will make Cas more comfortable. There’s a pause and after a few beats of silence, he’s rewarded with another sigh.

“I did what I was told and focused on my studies. I loved to draw and paint, and my mother, who is a very talented artist herself, encouraged me. My father, on the other hand, thought art was a waste of time. He once smashed the easel my mother had given me for my birthday and threw out all my paints because he caught me painting instead of studying.”

Dean bites back a sound of sympathy at the thought of a younger Cas being berated for doing something that he loves. No matter how deep John fell down the rabbit hole of alcohol and depression, he never stopped Dean or Sam from doing what made them happy. He may have kept them from their family, from settling down and having a normal childhood, but he let Sam join sports or the drama club in whatever town they ended up in and helped Dean pack his guitar into the trunk when they inevitably skipped town in the middle of the night.

“Gabriel, on the other hand, well, you’ve met Gabriel. Rebellion was his middle name. He and father never got along, not even when we were children, and by the time Gabriel moved to the west coast for law school, I think our father was happy enough to be rid of him.” Cas pauses and reaches to the desk beside him to pick up an eraser. He’s silent, focused on correctly whatever imperfection he has noticed, but Dean wonders if it’s just a way to avoid continuing the story. After a few moments, he puts the eraser down and looks up at Dean with a wry grin.

“I was always good at the sciences,” he continues, “even though I didn’t particularly enjoy the subject, so when it was time for me to go to college, father was all too happy to push me into Chemical Engineering. He was the CEO of a large chemical development and manufacturing company in Pontiac and he imagined that I could be an asset to his company.”

The pencil moves over the paper in short strokes again, until finally, he pulls back and studies his work. He flips the book closed and unfolds himself from the chair, padding back over to the bed. Dean wants to reach for the sketch pad, but he doesn’t move when Cas puts it on the floor beside the bed and slides under the covers beside him. He presses himself against Dean’s side, cheek resting on Dean’s chest over his heart, and takes a deep breath. Dean brings both arms up to encircle him.

“So I did what I’ve always done, exactly what my father wanted. At least, until my second semester. There was a fellow student in my American Literature class, Michael. He was, well, he wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met before. I didn’t really have any friends and I mostly kept to myself, but the first class he sat down beside me in the lecture hall and asked to borrow a pencil and a piece of paper because he hadn’t brought anything to class.” Cas stops and chuckles at the memory, raising his hand to play with the short hairs on the back of Dean’s neck.

“He was tall, slender, gorgeous, with dark hair and silver eyes. Tattoos, piercings, ripped jeans and band t-shirts, the whole bad-boy package,” Cas continues, tilting his head to look up at Dean. His blue eyes look troubled, so Dean runs his hand through Cas’ hair and down his back in an attempt to sooth him. Cas takes a shaky breath before he continues. “At that point, I was pretty sure I was asexual. I’d never really been attracted to the girls at my school and it never occurred to me to think about the boys. My family was vaguely religious, and I obviously knew that homosexuality existed, it just never seemed like it was something that could apply to me.”

“We became friends. He was the lead singer in an alt-rock band, so I started hanging out at the clubs with him. He saw that I was miserable in my classes and convinced me to change majors. For the first time in my life, I had someone telling me that I deserved to be happy, so I didn’t take much convincing. I went back to Pontiac that summer and worked at my father’s company. When I returned in the fall, I went straight to the registrar and changed my major to Art Theory.”

Dean leans forward to kiss the top of his head. “Pretty ballsy for a guy who wasn’t rebellious.”

Cas gives a short laugh. “Michael brought it out of me. We started dating that fall and the next three years were bliss. I made art, hung out at the clubs with him, and started working at the art gallery where I met Meg. We drank, danced, and made love through every semester until I finally stopped even going home for the summers. Somewhere in there, my mother realized what I had done and kept my secret from my father. I’m almost certain it was the only time she ever defied him.”

“Whoa,” Dean breathes. He twirls his fingers through Cas’ hair, enjoying the way the silky strands slip through his grasp.  “Did he ever find out?”

Cas chuckles, making his body rock against Dean’s, but it’s a sad sound. “At the very end,just before graduation and well after he could do anything about it. My father barely spoke to me the rest of his life, but I’m not sure whether it was because I was gay or because I was a disappointment professionally. He died when I was twenty-eight.” He stops, fingers drawing soft patterns on the side of Dean’s neck, making him shiver. No matter what shit his father put him and Sammy through, Dean can’t imagine the man not talking to him, not having him in his life.

After a few moments of silence, Cas sighs deeply. “Anyway, that was a long, drawn out explanation of how the non-rebellious teenager ended up heavily tattooed and pierced. I got the wings first, right after I changed my major. They were a symbol, I suppose, of the feeling of freedom I felt at choosing my own path.” He brushes his hand down his side, fingertips grazing Dean’s chest. “The tree of life came next. I took several religious art history classes that year. Although my family wasn’t particularly religious, I had a hard time at first with the way my and Michael’s relationship changed when we started sleeping together. It helped me to look at other religions, to see that love and connection are universal.”

Dean brings his hand up to trace over the large, ragged tree covering Cas’ torso. The branches reach toward his neck, curling around his nipple and edging into the stylized feathers on his back, while the roots tangle down over his hip, reaching around onto his buttock and almost to the thatch of hair in the front. Cas pulls in a deep gasp when Dean’s knuckles brush his cock, even though he’s not even half hard. “Did you get naked for this one?” he asks in a husky whisper.

Cas smiles, his lips curving against Dean’s chest. “Nearly. The artist was a close friend of Michael’s. He proposed a threesome a few times, but Michael wasn't particularly interested in sharing.” He arches into the touch when Dean continues to stroke his stomach with the back of his hand. His voice is rougher when he continues. “On the other side is Isis and Osiris. They’re Egyptian gods who—”

“I know who Isis and Osiris are, Cas.”

“Well, then, you know that it’s a love story. I collaborated with the artist, a different artist than did the first two.” Dean pushes him away so that Cas sits up and he studies the man and woman tangled together on Cas’ other side. Although they are wrapped together in what is clearly love-making, the way their bodies are tangled around each other make the artwork sensual rather than obscene.

Dean’s fingers skate across three lines of strange markings resting on Cas’ abdomen, just to the inside of his left hip. “And this one?”

Cas pulls back and Dean can almost see the shade being drawn behind his eyes. “I got that after Michael and I broke up. It’s an Enochian protection spell, purported to be the language of the angels.” His normally intense blue eyes are flat, guarded. He stretches then, an awkward, stilted movement that lacks his usual grace, making it an obvious attempt to draw attention away from the tattoo. “I’m getting hungry,” he says suddenly, turning to put his feet on the floor. “We should get cleaned up and get something to eat before you have to pick up Ben.”

Cas starts to rise, but Dean grabs his wrist and pulls him back. There’s a hard, uncomfortable feeling in Dean’s chest. He has pieced together enough bits from things Cas has said to know that their breakup was ugly, uglier even than the physical assault that ended his relationship with Malachi, and that it has something to do with why Cas no longer drinks. He presses a soft kiss between Cas’ shoulder blades, over the point where the wings join into a stylized cross. “You don’t have to tell me about Michael. Not now, not ever, not if you don’t want to,” he murmurs, letting his chin rest on Cas’ shoulder as he slides his arms around the other man’s waist. He can feel the rhythmic rise and fall of Cas’ breathing. “But if you want to, I’ll listen.”

Cas pulls in a deep breath and covers Dean’s hands with his own, squeezing gently. “Thank you, Dean.” This time, when Cas starts to get up, Dean lets him go. He picks up the sketch pad from the floor and hands it to Dean, who flips the cover open to the first page.

Dean is blown away by what Cas has captured there. It’s rough, clearly not a finished work, but he can see himself in the lines and shadows. He’s on his back, legs tangled in the covers that barely cover his groin. It’s intimate, more so even than if he was shown completely naked. His bare chest is a stunning study in shadows and highlights, but it’s the rendition of his face that captures Dean’s attention. Even in sleep, he looks happy, relaxed and content. A small smile curves his lips and one hand is flung across the bed as if he’s reaching for someone that is just out of frame.

He glances up at Cas, who is chewing his bottom lip in apprehension. “It’s amazing, man. Is that really how you see me?” Dean asks, the tight feeling of embarrassment at his vulnerability in the picture blooming in his chest again.

Cas frowns and his head tilts to the side when he squints at Dean. “You’re beautiful, Dean,” he says softly, reverently. “Can’t you see that?”

Dean wants to make a joke, brush his words aside, and cut off whatever this moment is that's growing between them. It makes him twitchy and uncomfortable to imagine anyone looking at him with the awe that seems reflected in the simple sketch.

As if he knows how much Dean is struggling, Cas lowers his head and gently brushes his lips across Dean’s forehead. “I’ll go get your bag from downstairs so you can change,” he offers, giving Dean an out.

Dean nods, eyes flicking up to Cas’ face then back to the sketch. When Cas opens the door, Juliet tries to crowd into the room and Cas’ reprimands provide enough distraction for him to close the pad and set it aside though he can’t ease the shaky feeling in his stomach.

Standing to head into the bathroom, Dean feels something crinkle under his foot. With a chuckle, he reaches down and plucks the strip of condoms off the floor, twirling them in his fingers. Heat rushes through him at the memories of the night before. Cas on top of him, mouth hot and insistent on his cock, Cas moving under him, the feel of his body squeezing around him. He runs the fingers of one hand down his rapidly hardening length. Maybe Cas will be up for round two in the shower.

With a grin, Dean glances around for the bottle of lube and sees it sitting on the nightstand. Couldn’t hurt to take it into the bathroom with them. When he reaches for it, though, his foot tangles in the jeans laying alongside the bed and he loses his balance. There’s a loud thump when he stumbles against the nightstand, sending the bottle of lube toppling into the partially open drawer.

Dean glances toward the door, but he can’t hear Castiel moving around downstairs. He has never been one for snooping, but he only hesitates a moment before pulling the drawer open wide enough to retrieve the lube. Glancing inside for the slender black bottle, he isn’t sure what he’s seeing at first. Purple transparent silicone, a roll of what looks like black duct tape, metal –

Dean jumps back as if he’s been burned. Holy shit, he thinks, running one hand down his face. The drawer, though only a foot and a half wide and maybe six inches deep, is crammed full of the widest variety of sex toys Dean has seen outside of the porn shop he visited with Ash a few times. He glances guiltily around the room before pulling the drawer out wider.

The purple silicone that first caught his eye turns out to be a long, wide dildo. The roll of tape is not adhesive, but actually bondage tape, the slick black plastic sticks to itself like cling wrap. There are vibrators in two different sizes, a glass dildo, three different sizes of plugs, cock rings, anal beads, and, most interesting of all, a leather paddle, a blindfold, a metal pinwheel, a set of metal nipple clamps, and both ankle and wrist restraint cuffs. Dean’s eyes immediately fly to the bed and, sure enough, he catches sight of the end of a piece of rope strung under the mattress with a carabiner clip on the end.

Dean looks down at the evidence of Cas’ previously unbeknownst kinky side and wonders how he read Cas so wrong. Sure, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a couple of toys hidden in his closet under lock and key since Ben came to live with him, but certainly nothing that rivals this amount or variety. Cas seems so reserved, so vanilla, that just the thought of Cas using any of the things in the drawer has Dean hard and leaking in seconds.

Though he and Ash had a slightly wilder sex life, Dean’s other partners have all been pretty bland. Some biting, semi-public sex at the bar, and that one chick last year who liked him to squeeze her throat is the kinkiest Dean has ever gotten. There are things in the drawer he’s never even seen in real life let alone used himself.

Dean reaches into the drawer and pulls out the strand of graduated silicone beads. He’s seen them used in videos, but never experienced them himself. He lets them slip through his fingers back into the drawer and reaches for the metal pinwheel instead. Stretching out his arm, he gently runs the metal spikes down up and down the sensitive skin. The sensation is weird, but he can’t honestly say that he’d find it arousing.

“It works better in conjunction with the blindfold.”

Dean jumps and drops the toy back into the drawer, slamming it shut before he turns to look at Cas with a guilty expression. The other man is standing in the doorway holding Dean’s backpack. The guy needs a freaking bell. “I, ah, the drawer was open and the lube fell and I was just going to get it in case we wanted to, you know, in the shower, but then there was this stuff and—”

Cas crosses the room in several quick steps and pulls Dean into a crushing kiss. He skips directly to nibbling along Dean’s lower lip, tongue sliding along the seam, and plundering Dean’s mouth as soon as he opens. Dean groans and presses forward, and it isn’t until his already straining dick brushes maddeningly against the fabric of Cas’ lounge pants that he remembers that he’s still completely naked. Just as quickly as the kiss started, Cas releases him, their panting breaths the only sound in the bedroom.

“I don’t mind, Dean,” he says, eyes flicking down to the drawer behind Dean.

Dean can feel the blood rising in his cheeks. “I, ah, holy shit, man,” is the only response that seems fitting.

Cas laughs and presses another quick kiss to Dean’s lips before reaching past him and pulling the drawer open. “I may not like casual sex, Dean, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like sex itself. I’m not a prude,” he teases, pulling the metal pinwheel back out. He takes Dean’s hand and runs the splines over the back. “This, for example, is quite an interesting sensation, especially on your inner thighs when you’re blindfolded, cut off from your other senses,” he says, voice becoming even huskier.

Dean shivers as the image flits through his mind, then pulls his hand away. “I, Jesus, man, you’ve got a glass dildo in there,” Dean exclaims, voice going a little whiny.

Cas laughs again and puts the pinwheel back. “I like how it feels,” he says with a small shrug.

“And the paddle? Nipple clamps? There’s ropes strung under your bed, Cas,” Dean points out.

“There are,” Cas agrees lightly. He pushes Dean back until he’s sitting on the bed, then sinks to his knees in front of him, hands braced on Dean’s thighs. “Until I met Michael, I had never even masturbated. I was nineteen years old, a sophomore in college, when I had my first orgasm. Michael showed me that there is nothing wrong or shameful about sexual pleasure. Over the years, I’ve discovered that there are certain things I like, so I’ve purchased items that help me explore those things. That’s all.”

Dean’s eyelids flutter as Cas runs both hands up his thighs, stopping just shy of brushing against his aching cock, then back down. He leans in, silky hair brushing against the head of Dean’s dick, and presses a kiss to the inside of each leg, just above Dean’s knees. “You use all that stuff on yourself?” Dean asks, voice shaky with arousal.

Cas raises his head, eyes half-hooded, and meets Dean’s stare. “Some are better used with a partner, obviously, but yes, they’re all things I enjoy.” There must be something, some twinge or flutter of interest in Dean’s expression, because Cas smiles suddenly. “Why? Has something caught your eye?”

Dean flushes harder, but hold’s Cas’ gaze. “Maybe,” he admits. “I’ve never used a lot of that stuff, but, ah, yeah. The thought of using them with you definitely turns me on.” He glances down at his cock, hard and straining straight up toward his stomach, then adds with a smirk, “In case you couldn’t tell.”

At first, Dean isn’t sure what Cas is going to do, but he just leans in and licks a sloppy stripe up the underside of Dean’s cock before sucking gently on the head. Heat rockets through Dean, but before he can bring his hands up grip Cas’ hair, the man pulls off and leans away again. “Pick something,” he says, his voice rough. “We don’t have a lot of time before you have to get to Ben, but pick something to try out.”

Dean thinks about refusing, but his desire for Cas outweighs his embarrassment. He’s never been particularly shy about sex before, but he feels a little out of his element. He leans forward and peers into the open drawer. Completely unexpectedly, he’s assaulted by an image of being restrained to the bed while Cas has his way with Dean’s body. Another wave of heat passes through him, making his skin tingle. As good as that sounds, though, Dean knows they won’t have time for anything like that. He pushes the leather cuffs and paddle aside and reaches for the beads again. He forces himself to meet Cas’ gaze when he hands them over.

Cas raises one brow. “You’ve never used these before?” At the quick shake of Dean’s head, he adds, “but you want to?” Dean nods before leaning forward to capture Cas’ mouth in another desperate kiss. Before long, Dean is panting against his mouth. He hauls Cas up until he’s straddling Dean’s lap, the fabric of his pants pulled taut against the firmness of his erection pressing against Dean’s stomach. They kiss for a few minutes, Cas’s hands running over Dean’s back and shoulders while Dean grips his hips and rocks against him.

Dean whines low in his throat and attempts to follow when Cas pulls back, but Cas just grins and pushes him down on the bed. “Roll over, Dean. On your stomach,” he says, voice thick.

The shiver that runs through Dean has nothing to do with the temperature as he follows Cas’ directions. The friction of the soft sheets against his cock is maddening, especially when Cas grabs one of the pillows to slide under his hips. “Go easy on me, okay?” he mutters, shifting to get comfortable. “I haven’t had anything back there in over ten years.”

Cas pauses where he was pulling the lube out of the drawer. He runs one hand over Dean’s shoulder and waits until Dean meets his eyes. “Ten years? You don’t bottom?”

Dean chuckles. “Only with Ash when we first got together. Didn’t take him long to figure out that he preferred it and I didn’t care one way or the other. It feels good either way, so we just sorta stuck that way.”

Cas hums and continues what he was doing, moving back over the bed to kneel between Dean’s legs. He can’t see what Cas is doing, but he can feel from the fabric rubbing the insides of his thighs that Cas still has his pants on. “And Ash is the only guy you’ve ever been with?”

Dean twitches when Cas begins massaging his buttocks, pulling them apart and blowing a soft puff of air over his hole. “I, ah, that feels better than it should, man,” Dean stutters before answering. “Ah, yeah, gone that far, anyway. Hand jobs, blow jobs, quick stuff you can get away with in a bar bathroom, but not much else.”

Cas hums again and Dean isn’t sure what it means, what Cas thinks of his answer. Another few puffs of air and Dean loses any interest in the train of their conversation when Cas leans down and licks a slow, wet swash across the pucker. “Oh, fuck, Cas, do that again.”

He obliges, rolling his tongue around the edge of Dean’s rim, sucking and licking until Dean is bucking back against his mouth in pleasure. It’s not the first time Dean has been rimmed but he forgot how fucking amazing it feels. With each roll of his hips back against Cas’ mouth, his cock drags against the sheets and Dean wonders, with the few neurons that are actually firing, if he could come like this, with just Cas eating him out.

Cas has other plans, though. As soon as Dean is pliant and open from his tongue, he pulls away, ignoring Dean’s whine of protest. Dean hears the cap of the lube click and then something slick pressing at his opening. One by one, Cas slowly feeds the beads into him, massaging his hip and murmuring soft, nearly meaningless praise. “You look beautiful like this, Dean, the way you just take them in.”

The beads get bigger as he goes and the last few require more of a stretch as his rim parts around them. Dean pushes back, chasing the burn, but Cas holds steady and waits until his body relaxes before pushing the last bead in. Dean feels full, fuller than he can ever remember feeling, and when he moves to rut against the bed, the beads shift inside him and press against his prostate. He arches against the flare of pleasure that streaks through him and opens his mouth to pant roughly, barely able to catch his breath.

Cas’ voice is rough, deeper than usual when he murmurs, “You’re doing so good, Dean. I love that you’re letting me see you like this, love making you feel good.” He leans down and licks Dean’s rim where it has closed around the space between the beads and the loop of the handle on the end of the strand. Dean relaxes into the pleasure, basking in Cas’ words, until, without warning, Cas gives a tug, pulling the beads quickly out of Dean with a smooth, steady motion.

The pulsing clench of his body around each bead as it slides out of him is both the strangest and most incredible thing Dean has ever felt. Even after the last bead has slipped free and Cas returns to licking at his hole, he can feel his rim fluttering. He rolls against the bed again, sliding in the slick, wet spot his steadily dripping cock is making on the sheets.

“Again?” Cas asks, and Dean isn’t sure he’s able to give a response. His body is strung tight, straining toward the promise of more pleasure. He ruts down against the bed, but Cas presses one hand against his lower back, holding him still. Dean whines and spreads his legs further. It must be enough of an answer for Cas because he slides one hand under Dean’s hip and begins to tug him up. “Come on, up on your knees, there you go.”

Dean is on his knees and elbows now, dick hanging hard and heavy beneath him with no way to get any friction. Cas doesn’t leave him bereft for long, though. With one hand, he starts sliding the beads back into Dean, while the other starts to stroke his cock with a gentle, teasing rhythm. He pulls the beads out faster this time, continuing to glide his fingers over Dean’s cock and kiss and suck at Dean’s buttocks and his rim. Two more times, the beads go in and come back out, each time faster, with a sharper tug than the time before, until Dean is rutting back and forth with soft, short grunts. “I can’t take it, Cas, I need to come, I gotta, fuck, Cas, I need more.”

Cas circles his fingers around the head of Dean’s cock, caressing the nerves just under the head, then rubbing his thumb against the slit. He pushes the first bead against Dean’s hole again. “No, Dean,” he says softly, dropping a gentle kiss onto Dean’s ass cheek. “I’ll take you apart just like this.” Dean shivers at the resolve in Cas’ voice. He presses the beads into place, one at a time, more slowly than before, and Dean ruts back against him as if he can force him to go faster, give him more. Cas’ hand moves faster now, stroking Dean’s cock with long, quick movements, fingers tightening on each upstroke. “Come for me, Dean. I want to see you, want to watch you come apart,” he orders.

Dean is straining to obey, to give Cas everything he has, but it just isn’t enough. He shoves back with his thighs and then forward, driving his cock faster and harder into the tight circle of Cas’ fingers. Distantly, as if it isn’t even his body, he feels Cas’ hand on his ass again, reaching for the handle of the beads. With one rough, fast pull, he yanks them out and Dean howls with overstimulation before his body seizes up, orgasm washing over him fast and hard, like his entire body is pulsing with the same rhythm as his hole and his dick, shooting his release onto the bed under him in long, powerful spurts.

Cas strokes him through it, until Dean starts to whine with the overstimulation. He releases Dean and gently pushes him over so that he curls on his side, chest heaving with exertion. He pets on hand slowly across Dean’s hip and when Dean finally opens his eyes, Cas is watching him with a soft, affectionate expression. “Was that okay?” he asks with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

Dean laughs as hard as he’s able to with the little energy he has left. “Holy shit, man. You have to ask? I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard before in my life. That was fucking intense.”

Cas smiles and leans over to press a kiss to his hip. His movement is awkward, drawing Dean’s attention down to where Cas’ pants are tented with his own neglected erection. Dean reaches for him, determined to return the favor, but Cas grasps his wrist and holds him away. His eyes flick up to the clock on the nightstand. “If we want to get a shower before you have to pick up Ben, that’s going to have to wait,” he says with a chuckle. “I also believe we will be skipping breakfast.”

Dean groans his displeasure just as his stomach clenches with a hungry growl. “Fine,” he says, rolling toward the edge of the bed while avoiding the large wet spot. “Can’t pick up my kid covered in jizz and lube.” He presses a kiss to Cas’ shoulder and runs one hand down across his chest to splay over his crotch. “But nothing says we can’t take care of that in the shower,” he adds with a wink.

* * *

* * *

Orange, red, yellow for the sunlight, green and brown for Dean’s eyes, blue for the sheets. Castiel adds colors to his palette slowly, mixing and blending until he has just the shades he wants. He’s already transferred the rough sketch of Dean in his bed to the larger canvas, but this part, picking the colors, always feels like the most important.

He wasn’t going to paint it. He had every intention of stashing the drawing away, just for himself, something he could look back on later. It would be a pleasant memory either way, no matter what happens, whether he and Dean stay together or eventually part ways. The thought of that day, some day in the future when he and Dean are not what they are now, when they’ve fallen apart as every relationship Castiel has had invariably does, fills him with dread and sadness.

So instead of hiding it away, he decided to paint it. No matter what, he’ll have this memory in color, more vivid than it would be even if he had taken a photo, because it would contain his own emotions. And there had certainly been emotions. When he awoke curled against Dean, the smell of Dean filling him and overwhelming him, Castiel’s first thought was to revel in it, to wake Dean with slow, sensual touches and make love again.

But Dean looked so peaceful, so relaxed. Dean carries the weight of so many responsibilities on his shoulders that Castiel couldn’t bring himself to disrupt his reprieve.  Instead, his fingers itched to capture the moment so that he could hold onto it forever. So he’d extricated himself from Dean’s arms slowly, carefully, and settled into the recliner. In that moment, watching Dean’s shallow breathing, the way his face was relaxed in sleep without any of the usual stress, Castiel knew that he was falling in love, maybe was already in love, with the man lying in his bed.

Castiel dips his brush in the base color and starts building the painting, shading and highlighting as Dean comes to life on the canvas. He supposes that he should be afraid of the thought of falling in love with Dean, but he’s really not. He can’t control that feeling any more than he’s ever been able to control any other emotion in his life. Castiel has long since given up any hope of talking himself out of something once he feels it.

If there is fear, it comes not from loving Dean, but from the lack of control he has over the situation. Control is definitely harder for Castiel to comprehend than love. A childhood of being controlled by his father led to wresting away control of his own life in college. It was fear of giving up that hard-won control that destroyed his life with Michael. He held on to it through Raphael and if he’s honest there had never been love there, just a desire for companionship. Fear of being alone led him to Malachi after his move to Lawrence and he’d allowed the control to slip. Ultimately, he was no better off with Malachi than he’d been as a child, every facet of his life dictated and decreed.

So where does that leave him? He’s finally back to a place where he feels in control of his life and his choices. Dean and everything that happened with Ash at Christmas threw that control for a loop temporarily, but he’s back to a stable position. Although he wouldn’t admit it to Dean, there is still some concern that Dean and Ash aren’t really as done as Dean says they are. So although he can admit that he loves Dean, he’s not completely convinced that his feelings are enough to weather whatever will happen if Ash ever decides to come back to Lawrence.

Castiel heaves a sigh and puts his brush down. Squeezing the bridge of his nose, he forces his breathing to slow. He almost hadn’t been aware that it was speeding up with his thoughts. He has no control over that, no control over Dean and certainly no control over Ash. So he just won’t think about that, won’t focus on what hasn’t even happened yet. He looks down at the rubber band on his wrist. Although he still puts one on every day, he barely remembers to snap it. He reaches down and gives it a sharp tug before releasing it. _Don’t perseverate on the things you can’t control_ , he thinks.

He picks up the brush, determined to finish the base shading at least, when his phone starts to play the opening riff to _Back in Black_. With a chuckle, he sets the brush aside. He knew he shouldn’t have left his phone with Dean while he took Juliet outside.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, tucking the phone against his shoulder as he picks up the brush again.

“Cas, hey,” Dean responds, and there’s a tone in his voice that immediately worries Castiel.

“Is everything okay?”

Dean sighs, the sound heavy and weary even across the phone. “No, uh, I’m actually on my way to the hospital—”

“Dean!” Cas gasps, dropping the brush in shock. Fear, thick and smothering, settles over him. “Are you, is Ben, oh my god, where are you? I’ll come—”

“Cas!” Dean’s shout cuts off his rambling. “I’m okay. It’s not me or Ben. Ricky, one of the guys at work, he didn’t brace up the truck he was working on right, cut some corners and it fell off the jack. Fuck, man, it’s bad. He might lose his leg. I’m driving his wife to the hospital, but I need someone to pick up Ben.”

“I can do that. Of course. Is he with Missouri?”

There’s the sound of voices and electronic beeping in the background, cutting off Dean’s voice for a moment. He says something to someone there before his voice comes back on the line.  “Sorry, we just got to the ER. No, she had a doctor’s appointment in Topeka today so dad’s with him at the house. He’s gotta leave by five thirty to get to work and I was expectin’ to be back, but, well, this is a clusterfuck and—”

“I can get him, Dean. It’s no problem. Just let me get cleaned up and I’ll go. I’ll stay at the house with him until you get home.” He starts to clean up his brushes and paints, running through a litany in his head of things he needs to do to make it to Dean’s place in time. Should he pack a bag? Dean may be very late getting back and it’s better to be prepared.

The relief in Dean’s voice is palpable. “Cas, man, I owe you one. I’ll text you the video for bedtime, just in case, okay?” There’s more talking, the sound of an overhead page, and then the distinct sound of a woman crying. “Shit, I gotta go. The doctor just came out to talk to Paige and she’s losin’ it. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Go, take care of her, Dean. Ben and I will be fine.”

It isn’t until Cas is on his way to Dean’s house, a bag packed with clothes for school tomorrow just in case, that he lets himself think about the evening ahead of him with Ben. Running the classroom or helping Dean with Ben is one thing, but he’s about to be completely responsible for the boy. What if he forgets the bedtime routine? What if Ben won’t go to sleep without Dean, despite the video? He thinks about kissing the child goodnight and tucking him into bed, and he’s not sure whether the butterflies in his stomach are from trepidation or anticipation.

Castiel pulls into the driveway alongside John’s pick-up truck. He’s unsure whether Dean’s father knows that he and Dean are dating and this certainly isn’t the way he wanted to have that conversation. With a deep breath, he gets out of the SUV and walks up to the door.

Ben yanks open the door before he’s even at the top of the porch steps. “Cas, Cas, I got a new book about the Mars rover. Grandpa John says I have to finish my homework before I look at it, but I’m almost done.”

Castiel chuckles and lets the boy drag him inside before closing the door behind himself. Ben takes off down the hallway, presumably to his room to finish his homework, leaving Castiel standing in the living room with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder and Dean’s father eying him warily from the couch.

“Good of you to come over,” he says gruffly, pausing the television show he’s watching.

“It’s not a problem. I’m happy to help out,” Castiel replies awkwardly. He sets the duffel down by the closet, hoping that it’s not obvious that he packed a bag. They may be consenting adults, but facing the father of the man you’re having sex with is never comfortable.

John grunts and hits play on the television. He watches for a few moments before turning back to where Castiel is still standing beside the couch. “You gonna sit down? I don’t bite,” he says with a laugh.

Castiel takes a seat on the couch. John is sitting in the spot he usually takes, but he supposes that is probably a good thing, considering what they were doing the last time he and Dean were on this couch together.  He feels his cheeks start to heat up and thinks about adding something else to his band-snapping repertoire. _Don’t think about having sex with your boyfriend while sitting on the couch with your boyfriend’s father_. That should pretty much be a given.

“You and Dean worked out your crap from Christmas?”

Castiel looks over at him sharply.

“What? You think the old man can’t tell when his boy’s got his panties in a twist over someone?” John retorts with a laugh at the expression on Castiel’s face. “Not sure what happened, ‘cause no one thinks to fill me in, but I figure it had somethin’ to do with Ash.”

“I, ah, yes, sir. We worked it out,” Castiel offers. He’s certainly not going to give John any details that Dean hasn’t.

“Good,” the older man says, narrowing his eyes. “Ash’s father was my best friend, so that boy’s always been half mine, but it’s no secret he’s got a wild streak. Dean can’t see no wrong when it comes to him and that doesn’t do either of them any good.”

Castiel isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say to this, so he just nods.

“Ain’t no secret either that I wasn’t the most open-minded when I found out that Dean and Ash were involved. It’s a shock to a man when he walks into a room and finds his son with another man’s dick in his hand. Lookin’ back, I guess I shoulda been happy that’s all I walked in on, right?”

Castiel’s eyes widen. Surely the man doesn’t expect a response to that? Reliving Dean’s indiscretions with Dean’s father really isn’t high on Castiel’s list of preferred activities. 

“Anyway, point is, I mighta huffed and puffed and blustered a bit, said some things I regret, but at the end of it all, Dean’s my son. He’s been through some shit that no man should hafta go through, but he deserves to be happy.” He reaches out and clasps one strong hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “So, if you make him happy, it don’t matter to me whether you got a dick or tits. Just treat my boy right.”

Castiel swallows hard. “Of course. I have no intention of hurting Dean or Ben.”

John nods and shoves himself up from the couch. “Good. That’s all a father can ask for. I’m gonna go say goodbye to the kid ‘fore I head out,” he says.

Castiel lets out a long, slow breath through his teeth and stays where he is on the couch, not really entirely sure what just happened. He’s still there when John comes back down the hallway. The older man pauses at the door with one hand on the handle. “Castiel,” he says slowly and waits for Castiel to meet his eyes. “Dean tell you I was a Marine?” At Castiel’s nod, he smiles, a cold glint in his eye.  “Good.”

And then John is gone, leaving Castiel on the couch unsure whether that vague threat was meant to be a joke or not. Castiel shakes his head. No matter how many stories Dean tells him about his father, they never quite capture how intimidating the man really is.

The rest of the evening is, thankfully, much less exciting. John already fed Ben his dinner, so it is just a matter of making sure he finishes his homework and entertaining the boy for the rest of the evening. They color, read several books, and watch an episode of Star Trek that Ben insists is the best. When the Enterprise is overrun with Tribbles, Castiel laughs along with Ben.

Dean sends sporadic updates from the hospital, but none of them are good. He explains that neither Ricky nor his wife has any family in Lawrence, so he doesn’t feel right leaving her alone there. Castiel assures him that they’re fine and he falls even deeper in love with the man who gives so much to other people and asks for so little in return.

“Is daddy’s friend going to die?” Ben asks, looking up from his coloring sheet. His green eyes are wide and compassionate, so much like Dean that Castiel’s heart misses a beat.

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. There’s no point in placating. “I’m not sure how injured he is, but your father said that it is very bad. He doesn’t want to leave the man’s wife alone.”

“That would be bad, to be all alone at the hospital when her husband dies.”

Castiel frowns. “That would be very bad, yes, which is why your father is there. So she doesn’t have to be alone if something bad happens. Her parents are coming from Tulsa but it will take them some time to get here.”

Ben nods and focuses back on his coloring. Castiel’s heart breaks for the child who is already so familiar with death and the sorrow that it brings.

Just after seven o’clock, Dean calls to say that Paige’s parents are still an hour outside of Lawrence. Ricky has been in surgery for two hours, but there’s no word on the prognosis. “You’re gonna have to get him his bath and put him to bed.”

“You’re comfortable with me bathing him?” Castiel asks without thinking. It’s an awkward situation, but he is not Ben’s father. He has to ask.

Dean is quiet for a long moment and Castiel can hear the weariness in his voice when he finally answers. “I can’t believe you had to ask that.”

Castiel sighs. “I’m not his father, Dean.”

“Jesus, Cas. I know you’re not gonna bad-touch my kid or some shit. I trust you,” he retorts angrily. “That’s a freaking ugly thing to say, man.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel responds, pressing the heel of his hand into his eyes. It is ugly, but it’s also a very real issue he’s had to deal with as a gay man who chooses to teach special needs children for a living. “I didn’t, it wasn’t my intention to upset you. I just wanted to be clear.”

Dean doesn’t answer right way and Castiel counts the seconds until he finally responds. “Okay, we’re clear. Get him a bath and get him to bed. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He doesn’t say goodbye before he hangs up, but Castiel can’t really blame him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I have to get my bath?” Ben asks, starting to tuck the crayons away.

“Yes, do you want to come help me find your pajamas? I’m not sure of the right temperature for the water, so you’ll have to help me with that too.”

Getting Ben into the bath isn’t as hard as it seemed. They take turns feeling the water and adjusting the dials until Ben pronounces the temperature ‘just right.’ He quickly shucks his clothes and Castiel lifts him over the edge of the tub, careful to make sure he doesn’t slip. Finding the basket of bath toys under the sink, he offers them to Ben and sits down on the toilet to wait.

After a few minutes, Ben looks up grumpily. “You don’t have to watch me. I’m not a baby.”

“I know you’re not a baby.”

“So I’m not going to drown,” he points out, “because I’m not a baby. I call for daddy when I’m all washed and he helps me do my hair because I tried to do it myself but I got soap in my eyes. The soap burns and that’s really bad, so I don’t do it without help anymore. You can help me wash my hair.”

Castiel hides his grin and takes that as the dismissal it is. Back out in the living room, he’s at a loss of what to do while he waits. He wanders into the kitchen and heats up a mug of tea from the stash Dean has started stocking. The dishes from breakfast and dinner are piled in the sink, so he unloads the dishwasher and loads them onto the racks. It takes him a little while to find where everything goes and he’s just putting his empty mug on the top rack when Ben calls from the bathroom.

Getting Ben dried off and into his pajamas isn’t much of a production and neither is serving up the cookies and milk he has for snack every night. It’s just shy of eight o’clock when he finishes the last gulp of milk and takes his glass to the dishwasher for Castiel to load.

All of Castiel’s fears about what could go wrong are unfounded. After finishing his snack, Ben goes directly to the bathroom to brush his teeth, then leads Castiel to his room. Castiel pulls back the covers and waits for Ben to climb in bed, but the boy stops beside him expectantly.

“You gotta give me a hug,” he announces.

“Oh, of course.” Castiel remembers Dean’s routine of hug, music, then kiss on the forehead. He wraps his arms around the child, pressing him close to his chest. He’s kissed Ben on the cheek, held his hand, and wrapped him in a blanket during a meltdown, but he’s never just hugged the boy before. His body seems tinier than possible, especially for the strength in his arms when he throws them around Castiel’s neck.

As much as he feels for Dean, both physically and emotionally, it is almost eclipsed by the purity of his feelings for this tiny boy. Years ago, back before things went so horribly wrong, he and Michael had joked about settling down and adopting a whole minivan full of children, kids they could save from surviving mirror images of their own rather screw-up childhoods. It was one of the things that Castiel had thrown in his face during the fight that ended their relationship, more evidence fueling the fear that Michael wanted to tie him down and control him.

After Michael, even once he’d settled into some semblance of semi-permanence with Raphael, Castiel couldn’t bring himself to think about the prospect of children. He threw himself into his Special Education degree and told himself that his students would be enough to take the place of the children he and Michael had dreamed of. It was easy, after all, when he moved to Lawrence because Malachi was certainly not interested in ever sharing Castiel’s attention.

It feels like a second chance, this small body in his arms. A chance to finally put to rest all the fears that kept him from accepting what Michael was offering. When Ben snuffles against his chest and pulls back, he almost doesn’t want to let go. He ducks his head to blink away the tears shining in his eyes while Ben settles into bed and pulls the covers up over himself.

He sits down beside the bed, back propped against Ben’s nightstand and sets up his phone to play the video. They watch Dean play through three songs, the mesmerizing timbre of Dean’s voice only slightly degraded by the video quality. When the last song ends, he leans to the side and kisses Ben on the cheek.

Ben frowns. “Daddy kisses me on the forehead.”

“I know,” Castiel agrees, “and he’ll come in and kiss you on the forehead when he gets home, even though you might not be awake to remember it. That’s special, between you and your father, so if it’s okay with you, I’ll kiss you on the cheek.”

Ben thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “Okay. Good night, Cas.” He snuggles down under the covers and closes his eyes while the planets and stars dance on his walls and ceiling from the rotating shade on the lamp beside his bed.

It’s late, after nine, when Dean finally pulls into the driveway. Castiel waits where he’s curled up in his spot on the couch, an episode of some reality show about prospectors on the television, until Dean comes through the door from the garage.

“Hey,” Dean says softly, his expression softening when he sees Castiel. He looks exhausted, more tired than Castiel has ever seen him. He walks to the couch and leans down to give Castiel a kiss that is more comfort than it is passion.

Castiel pulls him down so that Dean is sitting with his back against Castiel’s chest, head lolling tiredly against his shoulder. He rubs small circles into Dean’s temple, trying to ease the tension his can see in the lines on his forehead. “Are you okay?” he murmurs.

Dean sighs, tension bleeding out of his body as he relaxes, letting the other man bear his weight. “Not really. But there’s nothing else I can do. Paige’s parents came just before the doctor came out and told us they had to amputate his leg.” Dean lets out a shaky breath.

“Oh, Dean. I’m so sorry.”

“I mean, he’s alive, and that’s not nothin’, but they’ve got a three-year-old girl and Paige is beside herself worrying about how she’s gonna take care of everything. He’s lookin’ at weeks in the hospital then physical therapy. Can’t imagine how he’d ever be able to come back to work as a mechanic. Don’t know what they’re gonna do. He’s twenty-four years old, Cas. His whole fucking life ahead of him.”

Castiel is silent as he continues to massage Dean head, moving to long slow strokes through Dean’s hair and down to press against the tension in his shoulders. “I know it’s not a lot, but I’d like our classroom to do something for them if you think that would be okay. Every year for Autism Awareness month, we make crafts with the kids and sell them at a community art show at the Autism walk,” he explains. “We usually donate to an organization that supports individuals with special needs, but I think I’d like to donate the proceeds to his family this year. Our children may have challenges, but it would be good for them to reach out to someone in our own community who is struggling.”

Dean drags in another shaky breath and twists to press a gentle kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “That would be awesome, man. I know Paige would appreciate it.”

Castiel nods and runs his hands down Dean’s arms and back up. “I told Ben you would kiss his forehead when you came home. I hope that’s okay.”

Dean smiles then, it’s small and doesn’t have his usual shine, but it’s something better than the devastation that had been in his eyes when he walked in. “That’s good. I’ll go in, I just, thank you. You don’t know how much this meant to me, that I didn’t have to worry about him ‘cause I knew you were here takin’ care of him for me.”

“I’ll always be here when you need me, Dean,” he promises softly, pressing a light kiss to Dean’s forehead in a reflection of the way Dean takes care of Ben. There are no lingering doubts about falling in love, being in love, with this man, just the knowledge that he never wants to leave his side.

“Cas?” Dean asks softly, pulling away to sit up. “I know you’re sketchy about stayin’ here with Ben and all, but, well, god, this sounds so chick flick, but I really don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

Castiel takes his hand and leans in, lips meeting in a soft, barely there kiss. “Of course, Dean,” he whispers. Wild horses couldn’t drag him away.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sick day from work means you get this early instead of at midnight tonight. 
> 
> I remember when I started writing this, it felt like 10 chapters was a huge amount, but now with just 10 chapters to go, it feels like its going too fast. 
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys!

Castiel is beginning to think that the distinctive rumble of a big block Chevy is a special aphrodisiac made just for him. He ignores the spike of arousal and pulls the door shut behind him, walking across the driveway to the black car idling there waiting for him.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, buckling his seatbelt. He twists in his seat and greets Ben, who is strapped in behind him, before reaching across the seat and squeezing Dean’s hand. Although Ben knows about their relationship, they haven’t quite found a level of comfort with kissing in front of him. “Can I assume we’re going to the Roadhouse?”

Dean’s smile falters. “Well, um, Sam and Jess said they would meet us there, but if you don’t wa—”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Castiel cuts in. “I like the Roadhouse. I was just teasing.”

“Oh, yeah, okay then. I just don’t want you to think we always have to go there.”

Castiel shakes his head fondly. “Dean, I like your family and I like the Roadhouse. If I didn’t want to go there, I would say that, okay?”

Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand in response and doesn’t let go until they’re pulling into the parking lot of the bar. As usual, Ben is off like a shot as soon as Castiel opens the door. He has even started to unbuckle himself. He has grown up so much just in the seven months Castiel has known him.

There’s a brunette behind the bar tonight that Castiel has never seen before. They’re halfway across the room, heading to the booth along the front windows where Sam and Jess are waiting when Ellen pushes through the swinging door leading to the kitchen. Dean lets Castiel into the booth first, then pulls up a chair from a neighboring table for Ben before sliding in after him.

“You burnin’ through staff that quick, Ellen?” Dean teases when the older woman approaches. “I thought Nat was on Saturday nights. We didn’t scare her away did we?”

Ellen rolls her eyes and biffs Dean on the back of the head good-naturedly. “She’s got a study group for one of her classes at KU tonight so Jenny’s coverin’ for her.”  She looks past Dean and adds with a wink, “Least I don’t have to worry ‘bout you hittin’ on the staff anymore. Good to see ya, Castiel.”

Castiel bites back a grin at Dean’s offended look. “You too, Ellen.”

There’s good natured laughing all around and then a few minutes of bickering while everyone decides on their orders. One of the good things about frequenting a restaurant is that it’s rare to not know want you want. Ellen whisks herself back to the kitchen, leaving a beat of awkward silence behind.

“So, how are things going with the GTO?” Sam asks, leaning back so he can stretch his long legs out into the aisle alongside Ben’s chair. He brushes one hand through his long hair, pushing it back behind his ear.

“Surprisingly good,” Dean responds. “Got the motor rebuilt last week. Running gear’s out and the body work is done. Should be ready to paint this week then start puttin’ her back together.”

“Gabe said that Mr. Crowley has been very happy with the pictures you’ve been sending,” Castiel adds.

“Are we going to get to see it before it goes back?” Jess asks.

“Sure. I’ll let you know when it’s done, you can come down to the shop and take a look. Maybe I’ll even take you out for a spin if you’re extra nice to me.”

“You overbore the block?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

“Had to. It was pretty clean but I upgraded to TRW forged pistons, so I needed the clearance.”

Jess nods. “New cam?”

“Ram Air replacement with the same duration as the 744 but more lift. This baby is gonna fly.”

Castiel clears his throat, looking back and forth between Jess and Dean. Sam just laughs. “Go ahead and ask,” Sam encourages him, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Castiel turns back to Jess. “You actually understood all that?”

“Why? Because I’m a girl?” she asks, narrowing her eyes dangerously.

“Well, no, just because Dean mutters these things to me all day and I haven’t the slightest idea what he’s talking about. I was starting to believe he was just making things up.”

“Hey,” Dean barks, shoving Castiel’s arm while Jess laughs.

“Good answer, Castiel,” she says with a nod in his direction. “I grew up rebuilding cars with my dad. He always wanted a boy and got three girls instead. Since I was the last one, I guess he figured he’d make do with what he had.”

Castiel thinks of his own father and how he has no memories of doing anything with the man. It’s like there is a gaping hole in his childhood where his father should be. “It must be nice to have that bond with him.”

Jess shoves her blond hair back and grins. “Oh, it is. Of course, if I’m home and he’s busy, he makes me change the oil in the cars, so I’m not sure I really got a good deal.”

“Will you teach me how to change the oil, daddy?” Ben asks, looking up from the coloring page he’s been working on. “I could be a mechanic for the space shuttle.”

Dean laughs and ruffles his son’s hair. “When you’re a little bigger, squirt.”

When Ellen arrives with the food, there are a few minutes of silence while everything is sorted out. Three burgers, a grilled chicken salad, and nuggets for Ben, along with two bottles of beer, two glasses of iced tea, and a chocolate milk. Castiel peels the top off the bun off to add more ketchup, then pauses when he realizes that Dean hasn’t even touched his burger. Usually, he’s three bites in before Castiel takes his first.

Dean narrows his eyes at Jess as she peels the paper off of a straw and sticks it in her glass. “Since when do you drink iced tea?” he asks suspiciously.

She takes a big bite of her burger and swallows it before answering. “I’ve always liked iced tea. Can’t a girl get something different to drink every now and then?” She glances over at Sam from under lashes, but Sam is staring down at his salad.

“Not the girl who’s been drinkin’ me under the table since Sam brought her home from Stanford for spring break.” He looks from Jess to Sam and back to Jess again.

Jess shrugs. “Don’t know what to tell you, Winchester. I felt like iced tea.”

“Bullshit,” he retorts.

Castiel places his hand on Dean’s arm, unsure why he is getting so worked up about this. “Dean, I’m sure Jess drinks a variety of things. I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

“This girl hasn’t turned down a beer in the eight years I’ve known her and Sasquatch over here is studying his salad like it’s got the cure for cancer,” he points out. He kicks his brother under the table. “Spill it, what’s going on?”

Sam looks up then, unable to hide his massive smile any longer. “I told you he’d figure it out,” he says, rolling his eyes at Jess.

“That’s ‘cause you broke. I knew you’d break, Winchester. You have the worst poker face ever,” she exclaims, slapping him on the arm. Sam rubs his bicep in protest.

Castiel squints at the three of them in confusion. “Will one of you please tell me what is going on?” he pleads.

Dean looks between his sister-in-law and brother several times, a calculating look in his eyes. Finally, Jess waggles her eyebrows and Dean slams his hand down on the table, making everyone except Ben jump. “Holy shit,” he barks, his grin suddenly exploding to rival his brother’s. “I’m gonna be an uncle? That’s it, right? You got a bun in the oven?”

Sam does break then. He looks at Jess with a huge grin and she rolls her eyes. “You’re going to be an uncle,” she confirms.

“Woohoo! That’s flipping awesome, you hear that, Ben? We’re gonna have another Winchester runnin’ around.”

“Take it easy, Dean,” Sam chastises. “We haven’t told anyone else yet. She hasn’t even had her first OB appointment yet and we want to make sure everything is okay before we tell everyone.”

Dean frowns. “Why wouldn’t everything be okay?”

“We don’t know that it isn’t,” Jess explains, reaching across the table to take Dean’s hand, “but my sister had a miscarriage last year and they traced it to something genetic. I need to be tested to find out if I have the mutation. There’s no use getting everyone excited if I’m not going to carry to term.”

Dean shakes his head emphatically. “Nope, Winchesters are strong. This kid is gonna be just fine. You hear that, Cas? I’m gonna be an uncle.”

Castiel smiles, sliding one arm around Dean’s waist. “That’s wonderful, Dean,” he says, then turns to the happy couple, “and congratulations to you both, though I’m sure the fact that Dean is going to be an uncle far eclipses your news.”

Sam and Jess laugh and Dean shoots him a pout. “You better watch it, Novak, or I’ll make sure they don’t let you play with the baby.”

Castiel smiles. “I’m not really worried about that. I’m sure Sam and Jess know perfectly well who the better babysitter is.”

There’s more laughter, a few French fries are thrown, and Dean insists that he gets final approval on all name choices. Jess agrees over Sam’s protests though Castiel is certain she is just humoring him. Especially after she catches his eye and winks.

“Daddy?” Ben breaks into the good-natured ribbing.

“Yeah, bud?”

“Can I get a baby brother? It would be better if you and Cas got a baby ‘cause even if Uncle Sam and Aunt Jess got a baby, it would live with them. A baby brother can sleep in my room and play with my toys.”

There is silence in the face of Ben’s query. Dean turns to Castiel with wide eyes, but Castiel just shrugs, unsure what to say. It’s clear from the jerky movements on the other side of the table that both Sam and Jess are holding back laughter. “I, ah, well, we can’t really have a baby, Ben,” Dean tries.

“Sure, you and Cas are boyfriends now. If you get married and be husbands you can have a baby,” he explains, his face scrunching up as he considers it.

Dean shakes his head to clear it and looks around the table for help. Castiel doesn’t meet his eyes, as he’s curious himself how Dean feels about the question. He gave up the idea of having children of his own so long ago that the thought of his and Dean’s relationship progressing to where they might bring a baby into it fills him with emotion.

“That’s not really how it works, Ben,” Dean explains slowly.

“Yeah huh, daddy. Uncle Sam and Aunt Jess got married and now they’re having a baby.”

A short bark of laughter escapes from Sam and Dean shoots him a dirty look before kicking him under the table. “But Aunt Jess is a girl.”

Ben scrunches his face up again. “I know, daddy.”

Dean sighs and drags his hand down over his face, then around to squeeze the back of his neck. He turns a pleading look on Castiel. “Help me out here, man.”

Castiel just blinks innocently. “I believe you’re doing just fine, Dean.”

Dean narrows his eyes in a way that tells Castiel that he’s going to pay for this betrayal later, but he turns back to Ben. “Cas and I are both boys, Ben. Boys can’t have babies.”

Ben tilts his head and studies Dean for a moment before he rolls his eyes in a perfect imitation of his father. “Duh, daddy. I know that, but you could get a baby from someone who didn’t want theirs. Tanya said her mommy can’t have babies even though she’s a girl so she got babies from other girls. Tanya got adopted and her little sister got adopted too. I could have a baby brother that got adopted.”

Castiel can’t hold back his own laughter any longer. “He has a point, Dean,” he says as seriously as he can.

Dean shoots him a dirty look. “You’re in for it, mister,” Dean promises darkly, squeezing Castiel’s thigh under the table.

Castiel takes pity on him though he’s definitely interested in finding out what kind of punishment Dean has in mind. “Ben, your father and I are still getting to know each other. We’re not quite ready to talk about babies yet,” he offers.

Ben nods, considering. “’Cause you can’t take a baby back if you change your mind,” he says seriously. “Okay, but you’ll tell me if you decide to get a baby? I’d have to clean my room.”

Dean shakes his head incredulously. “Yeah, Ben, we’ll let you know with plenty of time to clean your room.”

Ben goes back to his coloring as if he hasn’t just given Dean a mild panic attack.

“You better get the word out about the little moose soon, ‘cause I don’t know how long it’ll be before this one spills the beans,” Dean jokes, stealing another fry off Castiel’s plate. Castiel responds by dumping the remainder onto Dean’s plate, earning him a smirk. 

“My appointment is on Tuesday with the geneticist, so hopefully, we’ll have an answer soon,” she responds with a shrug, stealing one of Castiel’s fries off Dean’s plate. “If he spills, he spills. It’s not a crisis.”

Talk turns to other topics and soon Ellen is back to collect their plates. “Any dessert?”

Dean pats his stomach with a groan. “I’d love a piece of that pecan pie, but I think I better pass. Cas here won’t want me if I get love handles.”

Everyone laughs, so Castiel reaches over and pinches Dean’s side through his shirt. “I wouldn’t mind some love handles,” he murmurs suggestively, “to give me something to hold on to.”

Dean flushes bright red and aspirates the beer he is drinking. “Jesus Christ, Cas!”

Ellen slaps him on the back of the head again. “Watch your mouth, boy.”

Dean bows his head sheepishly and mumbles, “Sorry, Ellen,” before shooting Castiel another heated glance. Looks like the punishments are going to be stacking up, but Castiel can’t really say he minds. He’s been aching for something a little rougher ever since Dean stumbled into his stash of toys over a week ago.

Ben follows Ellen into the kitchen carrying his own plate and Benson tucked under his arm, leaving the adults to fend for themselves. Castiel’s eyes skip past them and land on the guitar sitting against the wall near the small stage. He motions toward it. “Is there a band playing tonight?”

Dean follows his gaze and shakes his head. “Nah, that’s just the house guitar. Some guy came through about fifteen years ago and offered to trade it for a couple days’ worth of meals. Ellen didn’t wanna take it from him. She was just gonna give him the food, but he insisted that he didn’t want charity. Said he could always get another guitar once he was back on his feet, but that he couldn’t buy back his pride.”

“So it just waits here?”

Dean shrugs. “Sure. Anyone is welcome to use it if they want. We’ve had more than a few people sing for their dinner over the years. Some do it just for the fun of it.”

Castiel glances past Dean at the guitar and back. “And have you played it?”

“Well, yeah, a couple of times.”

Castiel looks over at Jess and Sam, who have obviously picked up on his line of questioning before Dean since they are wearing matching grins. “So you could play for us?”

Dean snaps back around to look at him. “You’re sneaky, Castiel Novak,” he mutters.

“Aww, go ahead, Dean. You used to play all the time, remember? Let’s hear something,” Jess joins in.

“Fine, fine. I’m goin’, you vultures,” Dean grouses as he slides out of the booth, but his words have no fire.

Castiel, Sam, and Jess gather their drinks and move to the end of the bar closest to the little stage, where Dean is sliding the guitar strap over his head and settling on the lone stool. Jenny, the pretty bartender, brings them more drinks as Dean tunes the guitar and launches into a song Castiel doesn’t know, the guitar smooth and mellow. Dean’s vocals are his usual blend of deep resonance mixed with a husky note that stirs something inside Castiel.

_I can see her lying back in her satin dress  
In a room where you do what you don't confess_

“Gordon Lightfoot. _Sundown_ ,” Jess murmurs at his confused expression. “Dean knows all kinds of obscure songs from the seventies, but ask him to play you something made in this century and he’ll freeze up like you asked him to play Eminem.”

“The majority of my musical preferences are from the early nineties, so I can’t say I should judge him,” Castiel offers.

Dean plays a few more songs, bantering with Jess and Sam when he misses a chord or forgets the lyrics. Castiel laughs at their teasing, loving the easy comradery Dean shares with his entire family. It makes him miss Gabriel and Kali something fierce. At least he’ll be seeing them in a week for Easter since Gabriel convinced him to fly home to Pontiac for a visit with their mother for the holiday.

His fingers slipping easily over the strings, Dean moves into another song and this one catches Castiel’s attention because he knows it. One of the bands that frequently played in the little club where Michael’s band made their home used to do an alt-grunge version of _Shooting Star_ that was a lot crunchier than the original by Bad Company.

This version, though, is light and playful, with Dean softening his vocals so that he sounds much younger. Sam’s foot taps along with the rhythm when Dean starts the chorus and then both he and Jess are singing along. Dean grins, clearly enjoying himself.

When the song is over, they all clap enthusiastically along with several of the other patrons. Dean gives a little bow before he places the guitar against the wall and jumps off the stage to join them at the bar. “I haven’t heard that song in years,” Sam exclaims, clapping his brother on the back.

Dean grins, leaning in to brush his lips against Castiel’s cheek.  “It’s a good song.”

“I remember the summer you learned it. We’d just moved back to Lawrence for good after Bill died.”

“Bill?” Castiel asks. He doesn’t recall hearing that name before.

“Bill Harvelle was Ellen’s first husband, Jo and Ash’s dad. He died in a hunting accident the year I started tenth grade,” Dean says, his voice suddenly tight. “Dad was supposed to go with them but he was on one of his benders, so I guess he blamed himself or some shit.”

Castiel remembers what John told him about Ash’s father, that he had been John’s best friend. The death must have triggered something in John if he’d finally given up his nomadic ways to settle down in Lawrence again. Castiel studies Dean’s face but the other man won’t make eye contact, instead studying his beer bottle intently. The good humor he’d had while playing is gone entirely.

“Anyway, you guys would disappear into the junkyard for hours. Used to drive me nuts. I’d hear you playing that song, but I could never find you because the echo would bounce around,” Sam continues.

Dean’s posture tenses up farther. “We didn’t want to be found,” he grumbles, his eyes going dark and cautioning.

Sam, though, either doesn’t notice the change in Dean’s demeanor or doesn’t heed it, because he laughs. “I could never figure out what you guys were doing out there. At first I thought you were going shooting without me, but I never found any broken bottles. After a while, I figured you just didn’t want me around.”

Dean looks up and glares at his brother. “We weren’t shooting, Sam.”

“Then what were you—”  Something in Dean’s expression must have given the answer away because Sam is suddenly flustered. “Holy shit, Dean, you guys were fifteen. It started that early?”

Dean’s eyes flick to Castiel and back to Sam. “You know, it would be awesome if you could shut the hell up about this,” Dean bites out, pushing back from the bar and standing up. He stalks back to the booth they had originally inhabited for dinner. Several of the customers closest to them turn to watch Dean go.

Sam turns wide puppy dog eyes on Castiel. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know that, well, him and Ash, I had no idea,” he stutters to a stop.

“It’s okay, Sam. I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” Castiel assures him. He glances back at where Dean is glaring sulkily out the window, his grip on the beer bottle so tight that his knuckles are turning white. “I’ll go talk to him.”

He approaches cautiously, waiting for Dean to tell him to go away, but the other man just flicks his gaze up for a moment before turning back to the window. Castiel slides into the booth opposite him. He remains silent and this feels so much like waiting out Ben or one of the other children that he starts counting in his head before he even notices he’s doing it. Just shy of thirty, Dean looks up and meets his eyes.

“I forgot that was Ash’s favorite song when we were kids,” he murmurs, eyes dark in the moody interior lighting of the bar.

“It’s a good song,” Castiel offers matter-of-factly.

Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah. He used to say that’s what he wanted to be like, a shooting star. Live hard, go out in a blaze of glory. God, we were such punks back then.”

“Is that what you wanted?” Castiel asks gently. “To go out in a blaze of glory?”

Dean looks at him for a long time before he looks away, eyes tracing the spider web of cracks in the Formica table top. “Nah, I always wanted stability, you know? Settle down, have a house and a normal job. I’d lived all over by then, only finished one year in the same school and that was when Bobby convinced dad to let us stay with him for a year when I was in fourth grade. I was tired of life on the road. Ash never had anything but here. He was itchin’ to get away.”

“So you two would sneak out into the junkyard to fool around and dream.”

Dean laughs and the sound has more mirth to it this time. “Yeah, we sure dreamed. We dreamed in just about every car in the yard for about the next year, ‘til I got up the nerve to ask Cassie Robinson out. Lookin’ back, I think I only asked her ‘cause I was pissed that Ash wouldn’t call us anything but friends. He was out and proud of it, but I knew dad would never understand, so he convinced me to keep it a secret. I don’t know if that was the real reason or not.”

They’re silent for a few minutes, the busy noises of the bar swirling around them. Finally, Castiel finds the nerve to ask the question that has been plaguing him for weeks. “Do you and Ash still talk?”

Dean doesn’t flinch, or even blink, just meets Castiel’s eyes as if he knew the question was coming. Regardless, he doesn’t answer right away. He just studies Castiel’s face for a few moments before sighing. “Yeah. Not like we used to, but he texts me every couple of days. Silly stuff usually. What he’s up to, asking about Ben and the family. I text him sometimes, little stuff.”  He pauses and seems to be fighting with himself before letting out another huff of breath. “Nothin’ sketchy. I told him me and you were together and we couldn’t do that anymore. No sex stuff. You can look at my phone and see.”

Castiel doesn’t answer for a moment. He had been hoping that Dean had ended all communication with Ash, but he was starting to believe that would never happen. Could he be okay with Ash being such a big part of Dean’s life? He sure hoped so, because it didn’t look like it was going to change anytime soon. “I don’t need to look at your phone, Dean. I trust you. I believe that you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, whether that has anything to do with Ash or not.”

At least, he tells himself that he believes it. He’s not as entirely certain about Ash as he’d like to be, but he does trust Dean. He reaches down to snap the band on his wrist only to meet bare skin. He forgot to put one on this evening after his shower.

Dean reaches across the table and covers Castiel’s hands with his. “Thanks. I just, I know I’m supposed to be cuttin’ him out, but it’s hard to—”

“You’re friends, Dean. You’ve been friends for a very long time, longer than you were anything else. I understand. You don’t have to stop talking to him,” Castiel interrupts. An image of Dean and Ash flirting at Christmas flashes in his mind and he really wants to yell at Dean and tell him to never talk to Ash again. He knows, though, that forcing Dean to do something against his will and not at his own pace would do damage to their relationship. He just hopes that he can ignore his own insecurity long enough for them to get past it.

Dean nods shakily. “Okay, yeah. Thanks.”  He glances back to where Sam and Jess are still sitting at the bar. “Guess we better go back over.”

“If you want to, or we can get Ben and go. It’s up to you.”

“Nah, we came out to have a good time and we’ve got a baby to celebrate,” Dean retorts, pasting on a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He slides out of the booth and takes Castiel’s hand. “Let’s go see if I can still kick my brother’s ass at pool.”

* * *

* * *

The snow crunches under the Impala’s wheels as Dean pulls into Cas’ driveway. Coming straight here from the garage has taken some getting used to. The first two days, he’d been halfway home before he remembered that his destination was a few blocks in the other direction.

With Easter coming up this weekend, Missouri decided to take a trip to visit her daughter and grandchildren, leaving Dean without anyone to watch Ben before and after school. Dean had been ready to start calling his family and friends when Cas pointed out that he could keep Ben. At first, Dean was reluctant to impose, but Cas insisted.

As a result, Dean has been making the drive to and from Cas’ house every day this week. He drops Ben off in the morning on his way to the garage and Cas takes him to school, then Dean picks him up again at night. It’s been weird, but definitely not unpleasant seeing Cas every day.

Dean kicks the snow off his boots on the concrete ledge before knocking on the front door. It’s been coming down heavily off and on for the last two days and the stuff is really starting to pile up. He shoveled Cas’ driveway the night before, but it looks like it could use done again.

He only has to wait a moment before Cas opens the door with a smile and a steaming cup of coffee. Dean had been surprised to find out that Cas owned a coffee maker, considering that he didn’t usually drink the stuff, but Cas explained that Balthazar had given him one years ago as a Christmas present so that the other man would have coffee to drink when he came over. Dean hasn’t met Balthazar yet, but the stories Cas tells suggest that he is exactly the kind of guy who would give a Christmas gift only he would use.

Cas reaches out one hand and pulls Dean into the foyer before sliding that hand around Dean’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. Dean is lost in soft lips and warmth for a moment, letting himself drift in the pleasure that is kissing Cas, before straightening up with the jerk. He glances past Cas into the rest of the house but doesn’t see Ben anywhere.

“He’s outside with Juliet playing in the snow,” Cas explains with a laugh, easily reading Dean’s hesitation. He tugs Dean forward again until their lips are just barely brushing. “Now give me a proper greeting. It’s been hell seeing you every day but never getting to kiss you.”

Dean throws himself into the kiss, careful not to spill the mug of coffee while still ravaging Cas’ mouth. By the time they break apart, they are both panting roughly and Dean is cursing under his breath. There never seems to be enough time to do all the things he wants to do to Cas.

Cas smiles and brushes the pads of his fingers over his bruised lips. “That’s more like it,” he says. He waits until Dean removes his wet boots before handing over the cup of coffee.

Dean wraps his chilly hands around the mug gratefully. The drive from Bobby’s is too short for the Impala’s big engine to warm up enough to crank out any kind of heat and the leather-wrapped steering wheel feels like a block of ice against his fingers. Every day he thinks about investing in a pair gloves.

Sipping the coffee and enjoying the heat that courses through him, Dean follows Cas into the living room. Beyond the giant windows covering the back wall, he can see Ben in the yard, bundled up in his snowsuit. The boy is packing snow onto a lopsided snowman while the boxer runs laps around him, kicking up the powdery stuff until it looks like the snow is coming down twice as hard as it actually is.

“How long’s he been out there?” Dean asks, sitting on the couch next to Cas. They’ve established their usual seats here just as much as they did at Dean’s house. A fire crackles in the fireplace on the opposite wall, throwing heat out into the room.

“Twenty minutes or so. I figured thirty would be safe enough to keep him from becoming too chilled.”

Dean nods, watching Ben throw a soft ball of snow at the dog, who barks cheerfully and darts away before running back to tempt Ben to try again. “Maybe I should get him a dog. Sam always wanted one, but the life we lived wasn’t made for a dog.”

“He’s always welcome to play with Juliet,” Cas points out softly.

Dean drains the last of the coffee and sets the mug on the low table next to the couch. “Thanks, Cas,” he murmurs in reply, a strange emotion passing through him. If they all lived together, Ben could play with Juliet whenever he wanted. Dean shoves the thought away ruthlessly. It’s been less than two months, way too soon to be thinking about living together. He’s not going to make the same mistakes he did with Lisa.

Instead of dwelling on the thought, he tugs Cas in for another soft kiss and then rubs his hands together. “You got anything in the fridge I can cook for dinner, or you livin’ on take out and leftovers again?”

Cas scowls, making Dean laugh. Dean knows Cas is sensitive about his lack of cooking ability, but he can’t resist teasing the man. “You don’t have to cook dinner, Dean.”

Dean pulls a face and shrugs. “I’d be cooking for me and Ben either way, so if you’ve got stuff, it’s just as easy to make something here so you can enjoy it too.”

“Well, when you put it that way . . .” Cas leads Dean to the kitchen and sweeps his arm open to encompass everything in the space. “Feel free to use anything you find. I’ll get Ben in and get him changed. Is it okay to offer him hot chocolate?”

Dean chuckles as he opens the refrigerator. “Knock yourself out, man. Hot chocolate is kind of a requirement after playing in the snow.”

Cas kisses his cheek but pulls away when Dean turns his head to capture his lips. “You’re letting all the cold air out,” he points out, motioning toward the open fridge door.

Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to see what he can find. Chicken breasts, broccoli, soy sauce, enough of the base ingredients for a stir fry. Dean sets about preparing the ingredients while Cas opens the door to call Ben inside.

A blast of cold air brings both dog and boy into the house, stomping globs of snow over the tiled floor in front of the door. “Daddy, daddy, did you see? Me and Juliet made a snowman, but Juliet just likes knocking it down so she wasn’t really any help. Cas said if it’s still there when I come over tomorrow, he’ll give me a scarf for it to wear.”

Dean laughs as Cas starts to help Ben strip the layers away until he’s shivering in just sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt. “I saw it, bug. Pretty good snowman. Your old man makes a pretty mean snow fort, though. Maybe tomorrow night we can make one and challenge Cas to a snowball battle.”

Cas narrows his eyes, but Dean just looks back at him innocently. “You’re on, Winchester,” he growls.

Dean digs a wide stir-fry pan out of the cupboard and puts it on the stove to heat while Cas ushers Ben into the bedroom to change his wet socks. While there isn’t a television in the living room, Ben quickly discovered that there is one in the guest bedroom just off the foyer. For the past week, a variety of Ben’s toys and extra clothes have migrated to Cas’ house and taken up residence in that room.

The chicken and broccoli mixture is sizzling in the pan when Cas and Ben re-emerge from the room. Ben is wrapped in a fuzzy black and yellow striped bathrobe with a hood sporting antenna and bee-shaped slippers. He crawls up on a stool next to the kitchen island while Cas pulls out a mug for his cocoa.

“Uh, Cas?” Dean says, stirring the pan of food constantly to make sure everything cooks evenly. “Where’d the robe come from? I think I’d remember a robe that made him look like a giant bee.”

Cas flushes adorably and bites his lower lip before answering. “I, well, I saw it the other day at the store and it was on sale, so I thought Ben might like to have a robe. I was going to give it to you, but I forgot.”

Dean narrows his eyes. Something about Cas’ delivery doesn’t sound right. He ponders it while he tests the crispness of the vegetables in the stir fry, but it isn’t until Cas sets a mug with swirling blue galaxies on it in front of Ben that it clicks. “Cas? Have you been buying things for Ben to have here?”

Cas and Ben exchange a guilty look, which Dean supposes is all the answer he really needs. “I, well, just a few things maybe, to make Ben comfortable here. I didn’t mean, I hope it’s not too presumptuous, I just figured that it would be nice for him to have things here if you start spending any time here. In the future, I mean. If you want to.”

Dean turns the burner off and snags Cas’ hand to pull him into a hug. Cas’ body is rigid in his arms. “Stop freaking out,” he orders. “It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. We’d love to start spending more time here. Just don’t go overboard.”

Cas relaxes against him and snakes his arms around Dean’s waist. “Okay. I was thinking about ordering one of the planet lamps that he has in his room. So that, maybe, you and he could stay here sometimes,” he admits softly.

Dean’s breath catches. That sounds really, really good. “Yeah, go ahead and do that.”  He leans forward, intending to brush his lips against Cas’.

“Are you going to kiss?” Ben pipes up, startling both men.

They release each other quickly and step away, and Dean is surprised that he completely forgot Ben was sitting there. Getting wrapped up in Cas is easy like that. “Ah, what?”

“Are you going to kiss?” Ben repeats, sucking another mouthful of cocoa through his straw before digging out a marshmallow with his fingers and popping it into his mouth. “You said that you and Cas might kiss sometimes, but you don’t, so I was just wondering if you were going to finally kiss now.”

Dean chuckles and runs his hand down over his face. They’ve been making an effort not to be too physical in front of Ben and apparently it hasn’t gone unnoticed. “Uh, you wouldn’t mind?”

“Nah,” Ben says with a shrug. “You can kiss Cas. Tanya says she saw her mom and dad kissing with tongues and it was gross, but I think tongues feel pretty good. They’re kind of slimy, but they feel cool like a snake’s scales, so I don’t know why that would be gross.” He sticks out his tongue and runs his fingers across it, going cross-eyed and he tries to look down to see it.

Dean shoots Cas a look when he hears the other man bite back a snort of laughter. Cas just stares back innocently, but Dean can see him pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Smug bastard will pay for that later.

“Okay, then. If you don’t mind, then yeah, I’d like to kiss to Cas sometimes.” Dean grabs Cas’ wrist and tugs him forward into a quick, gentle kiss before he releases him with a smirk. “I think we’ll save the tongues for later, though.” Ben just nods gravely, but he hears another snort of laughter escape the man beside him.

Together, they make rice and Cas helps plate the food before carrying it to the table. Ben retrieves the silverware and Dean isn’t surprised that he doesn’t have to ask where they’re kept. Apparently, Ben has been making himself comfortable in Cas’ home.

Dinner is pleasant, as usual, and Dean thinks that he could get used to sharing meals with Cas. It’s nice to have someone to talk to, even if it is just about his day and the minor annoyances that happen at work. Cas asks about Ricky and Dean is happy to tell him that despite the amputation, the man is in good spirits. He’s already talking about prosthetics that would allow him to continue working as a mechanic.

Ben helps clear the table while Dean and Cas wash the dishes and put them away immediately, as is his habit. Dean is just as likely to let them pile up in the sink and then transfer them to the dishwasher all at once, but when in Rome and all that. He has to admit that it’s nice to have it done and not have to worry about it. Maybe Cas is onto something.

Once everything is put away, Dean glances around for Ben’s backpack. It’s been pretty much ‘snag Ben and head home’ every day this week, but tonight he really doesn’t want to go. He’d rather snuggle up on the couch with Cas until he has to get Ben home for bed, but he’s sure that Cas has things to do. “So, ah, I guess we better get out of your hair,” he mutters, finally noticing Ben’s backpack on the little table by the door.

Dean tries not to read into the expression on Cas’ face, but it sure looks like the other man is disappointed. “Oh, well, if you have to go, of course,” Cas rambles, crossing the kitchen to start gathering up Ben’s homework papers from the counter.

“Cas,” Dean says softly, but the man ignores him, so he steps closer and reaches for his wrist. Finally, Cas turns to him, his eyes a shade darker in the weird LED lights that Cas uses. “Do you want us to hang out for a while?”  At Cas’ slight nod, Dean smiles. “All you had to do was say so. We’ve got nowhere else to be, long as we leave by seven to get Ben ready for bed.”

Ben, of course, wants to watch television, so Cas sets him up in the bedroom with reruns of the Transformers on Netflix. Dean ignores the Legos that he’s certain Ben didn’t bring over, as well as the stack of coloring books and the remote controlled truck. Dean wouldn’t be surprised if rocket ship bed sheets show up next.

Dean and Cas do snuggle up on the couch. It feels weird to just sit with Cas pressed against him without the television to distract them. Instead, they talk more. No matter how much time they spend together, how much they text or talk on the phone, it seems that they never run out of things to say. They talk about the progress Dean has made on the GTO, about the upcoming holiday, and the projects the kids in Cas’ class are making for the Autism Walk in two weeks.

“Are you putting anything in the art show?” Dean asks, sneaking the chance to brush his nose against the hair above Cas’ ear. He smells like crisp grapefruit and something heavy, muskier. Dean can’t get enough.

“Why would I be?”

Dean sighs. “Uh, because you paint? The landscape in your room, it’s your back yard right? So I know you’re good. It would be neat to see people lining up to buy one of your paintings.”

Cas frowns but snuggles back against Dean’s chest while the other man brushes one hand down his side to smooth little circles against his hip bone. “I hardly think—”

Dean cuts him off by pressing his lips to Cas’ temple and trailing kisses down the side of his face until he can capture his lips. “Show me,” he murmurs against the corner of Cas’ mouth.

Cas turns into the kiss, lips parting on a sigh, to flick his tongue out against Dean’s lower lip. “Show you what?”

“Show me your paintings. I know you have to have more. Seems like every time I call, you’re painting. I want to see.”

Cas tenses and Dean wonders if he’s gone too far, been too pushy. He’s about to play it off, tell Cas to just tell him to go to hell, when Cas nods. “Okay.” He gets up and takes Dean’s hand to pull him off the couch.

Dean has seen inside the studio once before, the first time Cas gave him a tour of the house, but it had just been a glimpse. Cas pushes the door open then closes it behind him even though Juliet is curled up in the bedroom with Ben.

Stacks of both finished and blank canvases line the room, which Cas obviously also uses as a yoga studio from the mats on the floor. Dean takes everything in, the fancy stereo system, the little altar on the bookshelf, and the cabinets full of art supplies. He’s starting toward the first stack of paintings when the unfinished canvas on the easel near the French doors catches his attention.

It’s almost three times as large as the original sketch and only half painted, but it’s clearly him, lying stretched out in Cas’ bed. His face heats at the memories of what they’d done just after that. Though it’s only been barely two weeks, they haven’t managed to find themselves with enough alone time for a repeat. Dean is itching to try out the other toys he knows are hiding in Cas’ nightstand.

“Do you like it?” Cas asks hesitantly, coming to stand beside him as he studies the painting.

Dean smiles at him reassuringly, then winds his fingers through Cas’. “I do. A little exposed maybe. I sure hope you don’t let Ben in here. That’s more of my skin than he’s ever seen in real life.”

Cas chuckles. “No, I keep the door to the studio closed to keep Juliet out.”

Dean nods and turns back to the canvases propped against the wall, flipping through them slowly. At first, he doesn’t notice anything strange, but once he does, he goes back to the beginning and studies each painting in depth. Cas stands next to him and Dean isn’t aware that Cas is wringing his hands until he looks up. “Cas? This boy? He’s in all these paintings. Just the back of his head, but it looks like the same boy,” he says questioningly.

Cas swallows heavily and nods. “I’ve been painting that little boy since I was a teenager. I don’t know why. Always from the back.”

Dean brow furrows. “That’s weird,” he says. “That’s like twenty years of painting this kid.” Dean narrows his eyes as he moves onto the next set of paintings. “Huh. He kind of looks like Ben.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, just stands there stoically while Dean goes through the paintings. Some are pretty landscapes or places around Lawrence that Dean recognizes, but many of them are fantastical drawings of dragons or witches or wizards or angels. Cas doesn’t say anything until Dean gets to the last set of paintings, then Dean looks up at the soft huff of air. “If you don’t want me to see them,” he starts.

There’s a moment when Dean thinks that Cas will pull him away, but finally, Cas just clears his throat and nods, so Dean flips to the next painting. It’s a gnarled forest, like something out of _Lord of the Rings_. A boy is hiding under a twisted tree root while the witch above him searches the woods. The depth of the light and shadows around the trees makes it look like he could reach his hand right into the painting and grasp a branch. His eyes snap back to the boy under the root. He’s facing forward, eyes bright green and sparkling in the dying light. Dean jerks his head around to stare at Cas.

“That’s Ben. You gave the little boy Ben’s face. What the hell, Cas? Is this some kind of freaky precognition or something?” Dean barks, his knuckles white from how tightly he’s gripping the canvas.

“No,” Cas quickly explains. “No, of course not. That was painted after I met Ben.” He reaches out and pulls Dean’s fingers away so that he can flip to the last canvas in the stack.

There are angels falling, their wings going up in flames like tissue paper as they hurtle toward the earth. A man is standing in the field at the bottom of the painting, his arms outstretched to catch the small body that is falling toward him, his wings already burnt away to nothing. Dean jerks his hand back. The falling angel looks like Ben and the man waiting to catch him is clearly Dean.

“I can’t explain it, Dean. I don’t know who the little boy is or why I always painted him. Some subconscious desire for connection or some supernatural intuition? I don’t know,” Cas says, his voice cracking with emotion. Dean reaches out and pulls him against his side so that Cas’ head rests against his shoulder. “I don’t know, either, why I started painting him with Ben’s face. I promise it wasn’t anything inappropriate. I didn’t even realize I’d done it the first time until I stepped back and looked at the painting.

“He looks so scared,” Dean whispers, his fingertips brushing over the little celestial Ben.

“But you’re there to catch him, Dean. You always catch him.” Cas’ eyes are wide and clear, looking at Dean with some emotion that he refuses to name.

That ache, the overwhelming sense that Cas sees more in him than is really there, is back. “Is that really how you see me, Cas? I’m just a guy. I’m not some freaking savior, plucking falling angels out of the sky before they meet their doom. Ben is just a boy.”

Soft lips trace the edge of Dean’s jaw while Cas’ hand finds bare skin under the hem of his shirt. “You are, Dean. You and Ben, you’re everything.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes, the word both a plea and admonishment, but Cas just shushes him with fingertips to his lips.

“I’ve been alone for so long, looking for something, some place to fit. I spent my childhood alone, the weird kid that no one wanted to sit by at lunch or get paired up with for projects.”

Dean winds one hand through Cas’ hair, petting and soothing even as he tries to come up with the words to tell Cas that it’s okay, that it wasn’t his fault that children are cruel. Cas’ voice is strained, holding back emotion, so Dean lets it go.

“When I went to college and met Michael, I thought I was free, finally. That I’d found my place. I had friends, a life, a place I belonged, but after I threw it away, I realized that it wasn’t my place. It had been Michael’s all along. Michael’s life, Michael’s friends. I was left alone again, just me and my art, and the little boy in the paintings.”

This time, when Cas stops to take a long shaky breath, Dean doesn’t think of interrupting. He just cups Cas’ cheek gently against his rough palm.

“Time after time, the people I thought I was meant to belong to, to make a family with, have turned out to be wrong for me. I have Meg, of course, and now Balthazar, but even she points out that I’m weird and broken. She might say it as a joke, but I know I don’t react to things the way other people would.”

Dean does frown then and he can’t stop himself from arguing. “That’s bullshit, Cas. You’re not weird or broken. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

Cas smiles and leans forward to press his forehead to Dean’s. “Don’t you see, Dean? That’s it. That’s why you’re special. You don’t look at me and see someone who is odd, you just see me. I look at you and Ben and I don’t see a need to change who I am anymore. You accept me, weird quirks and all.”

Dean can’t look away from Cas’ intense regard. Staring into the blue depths is like having someone look into his soul. He always thought that would be creepy, but instead, it just feels like coming home. “You’re perfect the way you are,” he whispers.

Cas swallows hard and closes his eyes for a moment. Dean is about to protest when he opens them again, meeting Dean’s gaze directly. “There have been times in my life that I would have given anything to have someone tell me that I was autistic, to have an explanation for why I never felt like I fit in anywhere.”

There is a burning pressure in Dean’s chest. Does Ben feel like he doesn’t belong, out of step with the rest of the family? No, Dean doesn’t think so. As much as things may be difficult at times, he would never want Ben to be different any more than he would want Cas to change. “Maybe you didn't feel like you fit because you hadn't found the place you belonged yet,” he offers, hoping that Cas can see the truth in his eyes.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas breathes and then they’re kissing. It’s perfect, just this side of messy. The hot press of lips, Cas’ hands scrabbling against his shirt to get a grip to yank him closer, one thigh shoving between his legs until they’re rutting together. Dean breaks the kiss to trail his mouth, open and wet, down Cas’ jaw to his neck. Cas is babbling, a constant string of praise and endearments, “Dean, so good, gods, Dean, I love you, Dean.”

He jerks back, feeling the breath punch out of him. Cas’ pupils are blown black with lust and he looks confused at the sudden halt for a moment, until his eyes go wide, as if he’s just registering what he said. “What?” Dean gasps. “Cas?”

Cas takes a few breaths, his chest heaving before he meets Dean’s eyes again. “I said ‘I love you’ and I do, Dean. I love you, and Ben.”

Dean struggles to pull in a breath. Too soon, his brain screams, but his heart, thumping painfully in his chest, isn’t so sure. It’s only been two months, four months less than he’d been with Lisa when she got pregnant and look how that turned out. He may have gotten Ben out of it, but the last few months of his and Lisa’s relationship was ugly and painful and messy.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Cas says softly. He must be able to read the panicked emotions on Dean’s face. “It’s okay, Dean. You don’t have to say it.”

He reaches out and presses his palm to the side of Dean’s face and Dean can’t stop himself from leaning into it. “I’m not, it’s not that I don’t, fuck, Cas. I care about you, you know that.”

“Dean, I told you it’s okay.  I wasn’t intending that to slip out, but I won’t take it back because it’s true. I’m not expecting anything in return. That’s not how love works.”

“I want to, Cas. I want to be able to say it,” Dean says, turning his head to kiss the words into Cas’ palm. “I want to say it and mean it and not be so afraid of everything crashing down around me.”

Cas pulls him in, arms a warm, reassuring pressure around him. Dean buries his face in Cas’ neck, eyes stinging. Cas is wrong. He’s not the broken one. It’s Dean that is broken. “When you’re ready, no matter how long that takes, I’ll be here. There’s no rush, Dean. I’ll be here,” Cas murmurs against his hair as Dean clings to him. “Take as much time as you need, Dean. I’ll be here.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ack, these chapters just keep getting longer and longer!

Cas stops short so that two children in superhero capes can run past him, then shifts the stack of bulky boxes he’s carrying before continuing across the stadium. The Autism Walk coordinators have a mild panic every year in the weeks leading up to the mid-April event because a late season snow can ruin the entire day. Luck is with them again this year and the weather dawned unseasonably warm. Hopefully, the last of the snow is behind them.

He can see the Woodlawn Elementary booth less than fifty yards ahead and even from this distance he can tell that Meg and Balthazar are arguing about something. The two of them have been testier with each other than usual for the last month. Cas is almost certain that something happened between them but neither is talking about it.

“It’s not my fault you can’t read a text, darling,” Balthazar hisses just as Cas steps up to the booth. His back is to Cas, but the look on Meg’s face tells Cas that this is a conversation he isn’t meant to hear.

Cas clears his throat loudly and sets the boxes down with less grace than he’s capable of to give them a chance to regroup. “This is all the packing peanuts I collected, but I think Charlie is bringing two more garbage bags. You have the toys, right?”

Meg pulls two boxes out from under the table and begins dumping out bags of small assorted toys. Woodlawn is operating a treasure hunt booth where the children can dig through a large kiddie pool of packing peanuts to find small trinkets as prizes. Cas found the idea on Pinterest though he isn’t going to tell Meg that.

Cas pulls the volunteer schedule out of the top box and tapes it to the corner of the table. Five one-hour shifts scheduled around the Walk itself will be manned by teachers from the school. Meg and Castiel both offered to take a shift but Balthazar, Charlie, Kevin, Cole, and Jody waved them off, saying that they already did enough for the children so they should be able to enjoy the festival.

While the three of them dump packing peanuts and toys into the huge kiddie pool, Cas continues to watch Meg and Balthazar. They always make sure to stay on opposite sides of their tent and rarely speak directly to each other, though Cas catches Balthazar watching Meg when she isn’t looking. He realizes that it’s been almost two months since they’ve all had dinner together. There’s a spike of guilt concerning how much he’s been neglecting his friends while he’s been wrapped up in Dean and Ben, so he makes a mental note to schedule a dinner with them so he can get to the bottom of what is going on.

They have the first layer of toys and a solid four inches of Styrofoam peanuts filling the pool when they’re interrupted by Charlie’s arrival. “Greetings, Earthlings!”

Meg rolls her eyes, but Cas turns to the redhead to take her bags of peanuts with a smile. “Just in time, Charlie. They’re opening the gates to the public soon.”

“I saw the whole Winchester clan in the parking lot on my way in.  Ben looked like he was busting at the seams.”

“By ‘whole Winchester clan’ you mean—”

Charlie laughs and jumps up to sit on the table. “All of them. Sam and Jess, Bobby and Ellen, and John. Dean said Benny and Andrea and the kids might swing by too. I told them to look for the coolest booth in the place.”   

It isn’t more than a couple minutes before the announcement comes over the loudspeaker that they are opening the gates. They’ve been holding that Autism Walk in the Jayhawks stadium at the university for the past two years and the enclosed area has been much nicer than the field out by Lake Clinton that they used to use. The event has grown so much that the stadium parking has also been useful.

Soon, the field is filled with people. Children of all ages, including many in wheelchairs, and their families and friends circulate among the tents, playing games, getting snacks, and receiving information about various services available for children with special needs. The booths are run by schools and community organizations in and around Lawrence and most are provided for free. It’s one of Cas’ favorite events of the year because he loves seeing the children come together in a place where their disability isn’t something that makes them stand out.

Cas helps out with the booth even though Charlie is technically taking the first shift. Meg and Balthazar disappeared into the crowd as soon as the gates were opened, but Cas hasn’t really spared them a second thought. In between entertaining children waiting in line for their turn in the pool, Cas scans the crowd looking for Dean and his family.

Between Easter, finishing up the GTO, and preparation for the Walk, he and Dean haven’t had much time together. A few stolen minutes at parent night last week and an aborted dinner that was cut short because Ben wasn’t feeling well were the only chances they’ve had to see each other. Of course, they text and call every day, but it is killing Cas to be so close and yet so far away.

He sighs and helps another child into the pool. The Easter visit with his mother left him irritable and unsettled, which isn’t uncommon for a trip home. Although it was nice to see Gabriel and Kali, the holiday was marred by his mother’s frequent dismissive comments about Dean and their relationship.

Where his father had been angry when he found out about Michael, his mother hadn’t seen it as an issue important enough to be upset over because she considered his homosexuality to be a phase he would eventually outgrow. Although his father’s anger had been harder to bear, his mother’s flippant attitude hurt more because at least his father had taken him seriously. At almost forty years old, being dismissed by his mother is still painful, so spending the entire weekend biting his tongue and avoiding arguments has left him ill-tempered even two weeks later.

Four more children in and out of the pool, and then Cas’ heart gives a pleasant flip-flop when he spots Dean and Ben coming toward him through the crowd. Just the sight of them raises his spirits more than anything else. He wants to run to them, wrap them both in his arms, and not let go until he feels more balanced and like himself. Instead, he raises one hand in a small wave to let them know he’s spotted them and waits patiently until the whole family comes to a stop in front of the booth.

There’s a grin on Dean’s face that Cas is sure is mirrored on his own and he desperately wants to step forward and kiss him, but he doesn’t want to embarrass Dean. Instead, he just closes the distance and places his hand lightly on Dean’s arm. “I’m glad you could make it,” he says, catching Dean’s eye and holding it long enough to convey just how much he has missed him.

Dean relaxes into the touch and Cas tells himself that the other man feels the same way, that he’s counting the days until they can be together again. “Are you kiddin’, man? Ben’s been naggin’ me all week. There was no way we’d miss this.”

Castiel greets the rest of the family while Ben gets in line to dig for treasure, then he turns back to Dean. “Have you gotten to see many booths? I hear there’s a science show set up near the fifty-yard line that Ben might enjoy.”

“We did a couple games and picked up some stuff about events at the library, but he insisted we find you before we did anything else. He was eyin’ up the face painting on the way past, so I’m sure we’re headed there next. You gotta hang here or can you walk around with us?” Dean looks hopeful and his smile brightens when Cas nods.

“The booth is being run by volunteers from the school all day, so I’m free to be with you and Ben.”

“Awesome. We got the best tour guide in the place.”

Cas continues to help out until Ben has his turn, then Charlie shoos them out of the booth with a promise that she’ll catch up with them when Cole arrives to relieve her. Cas glances around but doesn’t see Balthazar and Meg anywhere. He just hopes that Zar remembers that he’s taking over for Cole in less than two hours. “Okay. Meg and I both have our phones if you need anything,” Cas offers, but Charlie just motions him away with a grin.

Walking around the festival with a child of his own is much different than previous years when he’d attended as a coordinator or volunteer. _A child of his own_ , Cas thinks, warmth spreading in his chest. He looks down at where Ben is holding his hand as Dean chats with his father about something a few feet behind them. Ben trusts him and it’s clear that Dean’s family think nothing of it. He’s been accepted by them in a way he isn’t by his own mother. It is humbling.

Ben catches sight of the face painting booth and tugs him forward excitedly. He launches himself at one of the KU art students running the booth, chattering excitedly. “Can you draw stars or planets or rocket ships? Or maybe Iron Man? Or the Flash?”

The girl patiently helps him flip through the sample book until he settles on a Minion that peaks up above his eyes onto his forehead. He sits well for the base color but begins to fidget when she starts the details. “Why don’t you get up and walk around a little bit,” she says, “and then come back and we’ll finish it.”

Cas appreciates that the girls have been trained enough to know that some of the children may have a hard time sitting still for an extended period of time. He notices that the booth is stocked with plenty of wet wipes too, to quickly remove the paint if any of the children have a sensory reaction to it.

John falls into step beside Cas as Dean walks away from the booth with Ben, headed towards a table set up with brochures for specialized sleep away camps. “Shouldn’t he be able to sit long enough to get that done?” John asks. He doesn’t sound upset, just curious.

“Maybe,” Cas responds with a shrug, “but there could be a number of factors contributing to his fidgeting. It could be the presence of strangers, the way the paint feels drying on his face, or even his overall excitement about the festival that is making it hard for him to regulate himself. It doesn’t hurt to allow him a break, so it makes more sense than forcing him through it.”

“Huh,” the elder Winchester grunts in response. He doesn’t argue and it seems to Cas that he’s actually thinking about the words. Cas hopes that the whole family will learn things today that will help them be better prepared to help Ben.

When Cas and John reach the booth, Dean is arguing with Sam. “He’s too young to stay at some camp overnight,” Dean says, snatching the brochure back from his brother. “What if something happens?”

“What’s wrong?” Cas asks, casually stepping between them. He can see that Sam is on the verge of arguing back even though Jess has her hand on his arm to try to restrain him. He’s been around the brothers enough to know that a disagreement can quickly escalate.

“Sam thinks that going to one of these camps would be good for Ben, but I think he’s too young. He’s being a dick about it,” Dean bites out.

“Hey,” Sam protests despite Jess’ attempts to silence him. “I am not. I just think it might be a good experience for him to try to do new things and it says that these camps are specialized for children with Autism so they accommodate whatever things the children might need. That’s all, Dean. You’re just being stubborn.”

“I’ll show you stubborn,” Dean grinds out, jaw clenched in anger. He flings the brochure back onto the table and turns to stalk away, but he stops when Cas grasps his forearm.

“If you think Ben isn’t ready, that’s your right, Dean,” Cas says soothingly, even though he believes that Ben would flourish at the camp. He has volunteered as a counselor several times during his years in Lawrence and he’s seen how good they are about accommodating the children. “Some of these camps aren’t until August. That’s four months away, so it wouldn’t hurt to take a brochure just in case you think he’s ready by then.”

Dean yanks his arm away. “I don’t need a brochure. He’s just a kid; too young to be sleepin’ overnight with strangers.”

“Dean,” Ellen tries, pitching her voice low, “it wouldn’t hurt to take a brochure. Then you will have the information for when he gets older.” She takes one off the table and tries to hand it to him, but Dean shoves his hands in his pockets and refuses to take it.

She turns to Cas with a roll of her eyes, but he just takes the brochure from her. Now that Dean feels cornered, there’s no way he’ll agree. “It’s okay. Let’s head back over to the face painting booth, okay?”

Dean glances back at him, his posture still rigid, but his face relaxes. Cas smiles slightly and reaches for his hand and he’s glad when Dean takes it. As they walk away from the booth, Cas slips the brochure into his coat pocket. Maybe he’ll bring it up again when they’re alone.

Cas keeps expecting Dean to drop his hand as they weave through the crowd, but he doesn’t. If anything, Dean’s grip tightens any time Cas gets more than a step away. Halfway back to the face painting booth, John scoops Ben up in his arms and the entire family get a few feet in front of them.

Unexpectedly, Dean leans in and brushes his lips across Cas’ cheek. “Thanks,” he murmurs, pulling back quickly before Cas can turn and capture a real kiss. “I just, I don’t know why I get so upset when they disagree with me about Ben.”

Cas doesn’t respond for a moment, weighing his words. He’s glad Dean is talking to him, instead of shutting him out like he does to his family, but he’s not sure now is the right time to delve into this. “It’s hard, Dean, to be a single parent. Your family loves you and Ben. Sometimes it feels like they’re questioning your judgment, but they’re just trying to help.”

Dean swallows hard and gives a slight nod, a small smile curving his lips. “You always know the right thing to say,” he says, leaning in again, but this time he brushes his lips gently across Cas’.

A sharp ache of want spears through him and he’s reaching to pull Dean into a firmer kiss before he even registers the movement. For that second, he’s lost to the world, nothing and no-one else exists except for Dean. He wants to pull Dean in and ravage him, only the reminder of where they are stopping him from making the kiss something that is definitely not family friendly.

When they break apart, Dean’s smile is wider, his eyes bright. “Damn, I miss you,” he mutters, lips trailing across Cas’ cheek again before he steps away.

“I miss you, too. I can’t stand being away from you for so long,” Cas admits, letting his fingers tangle with Dean’s again as they continue walking.

“We’ll plan something for this week. Dinner, whatever, whether I can get a sitter for Ben or not,” Dean agrees.

By the time they reach the face painting booth, Ben’s Minion is done and he has talked Jess into the chair. She’s halfway to being transformed into a glittering purple and pink fairy princess. “Daddy, Cas,” Ben calls, rushing forward to grab Dean’s hand and pull him to the booth. “Everyone is getting their face painted. You have to pick a design.”

“Wait, what?” Dean responds with a laugh, pulling back to look questioningly at the other adults. “You’re gettin’ your face painted?”

Ellen and Sam both shrug and point out the designs they’ve chosen, a butterfly for Ellen and an Iron Man mask for Sam. “You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Dean grouses before turning to Bobby and his father. “You too? You can’t tell me you’re gettin’ in on this.”

Bobby grimaces. “The kids damn persuasive, boy.”

John nods and barks out a laugh. “Wonder where he got that from,” he teases with a raised eyebrow.

Cas has already flipped through the book and picked out an elaborate bee design that covers half his face when Dean finally capitulates and allows himself to be tugged over to the book. Rather than letting him flip through the whole book, Cas turns back three pages and points to the Batman mask in the left-hand corner. “That one.”

Dean smirks. “You know me so well,” he says, sliding one arm around Castiel’s waist and pulling him close.

It’s a good thing that there are five art students running the booth because it takes them almost twenty-five minutes to get through the entire Winchester clan. By the time the art student has transferred a Jayhawks logo to both John and Bobby’s cheeks, Dean and Sam are engaged in a mock superhero battle, their earlier disagreement forgotten.

There are dozens of booths covering the football field, so there is definitely no shortage of things to do. Ben goes into the bounce house, plays in shaving cream, and watches a short science show before convincing the whole family to have pizza for lunch. Although the focus is on Ben, Cas watches as Dean and his family browse books, pick up pamphlets for various therapies, and look up informational websites on their phones. More than once, Sam or Jess or Ellen has broken away from the group to ask questions of the people running the booths.

Regardless of the educational aspect of the day, Cas is just enjoying the feeling of belonging to a family. He lets the _Special Education Teacher_ part of himself fade to the back and tries to enjoy the day the way a parent would. He’s been thinking like that more and more, separating himself from being Ben’s teacher and thinking of himself more as a potential parent. The thought fills him with more intense emotion than he ever thought possible, more even than what he feels for Dean

They haven’t talked again about what Cas said, about how he’d let it slip that he is in love with Dean. Although he hadn’t yet put words to the feelings bubbling up inside him, he knew they were true as soon as he spoke them. His heart aches at the way Dean tensed up, the shocked look on his face, and although he understands that Dean is scared, it does hurt a little that he can’t say them back.

He tells himself that Dean just needs time to get used to the idea, to grow into his own feelings, but he can’t help being frightened that Dean never will.  He knows Dean cares for him and enjoys spending time with him, but that’s not the only thing he wants. It feels selfish to expect anything more just because his own heart took that leap. Is he destined to be in love with a man who can’t love him back?

Cas shakes off his melancholy when he notices Dean giving him little sideways glances from time to time. Something of his thoughts must show on his face, so he forces himself to smile and reach for Dean’s hand. They walk together like that, arms swinging gently between them until the voice on the loudspeaker announces that anyone participating in the mile-long walk around the stadium should line up behind the Jayhawks mascot in the end zone.

They make their way to the end of the field with hundreds of other people. Although it should be a rowdy mess, everyone is so mindful of the children, including those in wheelchairs and those who can’t walk very well, that it is actually is quite orderly. They will walk around the outside of the stadium and then finish with a lap inside at the far end of the field where the art show is set up.

It isn’t that Cas has kept Dean and his family away from the show. They just haven’t wandered to that end of the field yet, but Cas is glad to put it off. After the conversation with Dean that night, Cas picked out two of his older pieces to donate. He’s not embarrassed by his work, but he doesn’t want Dean to make a big deal of it.

There’s a brief announcement thanking everyone for attending before a low gong sets the Walk off, the whole crowd moving forward at a slow pace. They only get about fifty yards before Sam stoops down to lift Ben up on his shoulders above the crowd, much to the boy’s delight.

The crowd shifts and changes around them, with some people walking faster and some slowing down. Although Dean has ended up walking with Jess and Ellen, Cas chats with Sam, John, and Bobby as they walk, enjoying their surprise at how diverse the crowd is. Cas describes the Autism spectrum again though he’s sure that Dean has explained before, as well as different disorders that are likely to occur with Autism, such as seizures and motor delays. They’re rounding the far end of the stadium on their way back to the gate when his eyes find Dean.

Justin, one of the children from his class, and his mother Candace are walking with Dean, who has shifted slightly away from his family. Cas has always liked Candace and has found her easy to work with concerning her son, but a sharp flare of jealousy cuts through him when she puts one delicate hand on Dean’s arm and laughs at something Dean says.

Although he has teased Dean in the past about Candace’s flirting, Dean has always brushed it off as not important. Though he feels immature, Cas excuses himself and gradually shifts through the crowd until he’s walking just behind them. Candace shifts herself closer so that her arm bumps Dean’s with each step and Cas shoves down the completely childish and unprofessional urge to trip her.

“Are you sure you and Ben wouldn’t like to catch a movie next weekend?” she says with another tinkling laugh. “The new Pixar movie opened last week and Justin has just been nagging me to death over it.”

Cas stiffens and before he can stop himself, he increases his pace until he’s walking directly beside Dean. He slides his hand into Dean’s, enjoying the way Dean’s eyes widen slightly when he looks over at Cas. “I wasn’t sure where you got off to,” he says, squeezing Dean’s fingers and bringing them up to press a light kiss to his knuckles before looking across him at Candace. “Candace, it's so nice that you and Justin could make it. I hope you’re having a good time.”

There’s a beat of silence, just the smallest twitch to Candace’s lips as she flicks her eyes down to their joined hands, and then her eyes widen before she breaks out in a full out grin. “Oh my god,” she exclaims, cheeks flushing red as she meets Cas eyes. “I feel like such an idiot! I had no idea.”

Cas smiles kindly. “Oh, you mean about me and Dean? Well, we haven’t exactly been spreading it around, given that Ben is one of my students. The administration knows, of course,” he says, ignoring Dean’s raised eyebrows at that, “but we didn’t want awkwardness at the school.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” she concurs with another laugh, “though you could have told me rather than letting me make a fool of myself, Dean.”

“I wasn’t sure how Cas felt about letting you know so I figured it was better to let you down easily.” Dean shrugs apologetically. “Not that I’m not flattered,” he adds with a charming grin.

She laughs lightly again. “Well, I appreciate that, given the circumstance.” She reaches down and takes Justin’s hand. “I’ll just let you two enjoy your day. I’ll see you both on Wednesday, I hope?” At their nods, she slips into the crowd with her son.

As soon as she’s out of hearing range, Dean starts to chuckle, pulling Cas in for a quick kiss. “Someone was jealous,” he teases.

Cas narrows his eyes petulantly. “I didn’t like she way she was touching you,” he grouses, biting back a grin when Dean leans in to press a consoling kiss to his temple.

“You know it’s going to be all over the school by Monday, right?”

Cas sighs. “I know. I did inform Hannah when we started seeing each other, so I’m not concerned about the administration. I just hope none of the parents are concerned. Although I’ve never really been in the closet, I didn’t flaunt my previous relationship at the school.”

There’s a dark, stormy glint in Dean’s eyes and Cas knows that he’s thinking about Malachi. It’s only there for a second, then he shakes it off and grins again. “Pretty much anyone in town who knows me knows ‘bout me and Ash, so I’m not concerned about my reputation,” he says with a laugh.

They shift back through the crowd until they join the family again. Back through the gates of the stadium, they follow the crowd to the far end of the field, where one of the coordinators thanks everyone for participating and explains that the art auction will be taking place in an hour.

“Hey,” Dean exclaims, “we haven’t looked at the art projects. Let’s go in. I’m sure Ellen is going to wants to buy a ticket for whatever Ben made.”

Cas doesn’t mention his own additions as they follow the flow of other patrons into the art show tent. The show is done in two parts, the live auction for the donated pieces and a raffle for the children’s projects. A booth at the front of the tent sells tickets for a dollar each. The tickets are put in a small container next to the projects they want to bid on, and the money is then distributed to the individual charities based on how many tickets are collected at each booth.

The family stops at the ticket booth on the way in and Ellen and Sam each buy fifty dollars worth of tickets. John contributes another forty. Cas is awed by their generosity as he and Dean also buy twenty dollars worth of tickets each.

They wander through the show, distributing a few tickets here and there for projects they like or charities they want to support, but they hold onto most of their tickets for when they get to the Woodlawn booth. Cas falls behind the group a little, unsure how Dean will react when he sees Cas’ paintings.

There’s a small commotion up ahead, drawing Cas forward. The table with Woodlawn’s sign is in front of them. “Did you know about this?” Bobby says, pointing to the sign on the table.

Dean squeezes the back of his neck. “I did. Cas was at the house the night it happened and he just wanted to do something to help Ricky’s family out. Paige knows. I called her the other day and asked if it was okay. She cried, Bobby. It’s probably not gonna be much, but she cried.”

Cas steps up beside Dean and Bobby turns to face him. Though he’s sure the older man would deny it, his eyes are glistening with emotion. “You’re a good man, Cas. A real good man.”

“I’m just glad to be able to do something to help,” Cas responds, twitching with embarrassment. He’s glad when attention is turned back to the art projects.

They ooh and aww over the projects and everyone stuffs tickets into the container beside Ben’s project, a sculpture of a rocket ship made of bent wire hangers and paper mache. No one seems to have noticed his name in the lower corner of the paintings hanging on the wall behind them. No one except Dean, at least. The other man watches him steadily before grabbing his hand and pulling him a few steps away.

“You did it. They look awesome, Cas,” he says, his eyes shining with pride.

“I thought about what you said and decided that I could do some good with them, rather than just keeping them in a pile in my studio.”

Dean pulls him in for a light kiss and Cas lets himself get lost in it. He hasn’t been with someone so comfortable with public affection since Michael, and he tells himself that Dean’s reluctance to put words to his feelings isn’t as important as his behavior. Dean’s casual touches and kisses make him feel wanted in a way he hasn’t in over a decade.

“I’m proud of you. Who knows? Next, we’ll be going to an opening for you at the gallery downtown,” Dean says, pulling him in tight so he can put one arm around Cas’ shoulders.

A part of Cas wants to argue, but instead he just smiles and leans into Dean’s touch. He’s beginning to think that with Dean’s support, anything is possible.

* * *

* * *

Dean throws his head back and laughs. “You’re kidding me, right? I can’t even imagine that.”

Cas shrugs from his spot on the floor by the couch. He’s helping Ben put together a robot from the kit he got for Christmas and entertaining Dean while he’s cooking dinner at the same time. “I’m sure I have pictures somewhere at the house. Not only did Meg have blond hair when we met, but she often wore it in pigtails.”

Dean adds a dash of balsamic vinegar to the pan of green beans on the stove and smothers another chuckle. “Oh man, you have to get me a picture of that. I’m not above blackmail.”

“She was a regular education teacher back then,” Cas adds, helping Ben snap two electrical connectors together. “First grade. She brought her class into the gallery where I was working for a field trip.”

“I have to admit, I’m havin’ a hard time imagining Meg surrounded by a bunch of little kids.”

Cas squints as he turns to look up at Dean. “She spends every day surrounded by children, Dean. She’s an elementary Special Education teacher.”

Dean turns down the heat and sprinkles crumbled bacon over the beans before opening the stove to check on the pizza pinwheels. A few more minutes and they’ll be perfect. “You know what I mean. Your kids are different and there aren’t as many.”

“I know that Meg can be—”

“A bitch?” Dean cuts him off with a smirk.

Cas rolls his eyes. “I was going to say over-protective, but yes, I suppose that works as well. Regardless, she can be very nurturing. She just doesn’t let most people see that side of her.”

Dean thinks about Cas’ words as he transfers the green beans to a serving dish. Meg is Cas’ best friend and though Dean can’t really say that he likes her, she has been there for Cas through his most difficult times. Maybe he should make more of an effort to get to know her.

“Is Meg, Ms. Master?” Ben asks, looking up from his project with a frown. What started as a box of parts less than a half hour ago is now identifiable as a robot.

“Yes,” Cas answers before Dean has a chance to, so he just leans back against the counter and listens to their exchange. “Meg is Ms. Masters first name.”

“And Meg is your best friend?”

Cas smiles. “Yes, she is. Like you’ve made friends with Tanya and Justin, Ms. Masters has been my friend for a very long time.”

Ben’s face scrunches up and he taps his fingers together while he thinking. “You call her Meg but I have to call her Ms. Masters.”

“At school, yes. Just like you call me Mr. Novak, because that’s what is respectful,” Cas agrees.

Ben turns back to the robot and snaps another circuit into place. It’s almost as if he has forgotten the conversation, but then he asks, “But if I see her outside of school, like at your house, I can call her Meg?” without looking up.

Cas taps him gently on the shoulder until he looks up, then answers. “I suppose we will have to ask her if that is okay with her.

Dean smiles and pulls the pan of pizza pinwheels out of the oven. There’s something so freaking normal about cooking a meal while Cas and Ben play on the floor that it makes something warm bubble up in his chest. He pushes the pinwheels off the pan with a spatula and tries to focus on the good feelings instead of the frisson of terror that quickly follows.

He's never been good at this, at the day to day part of a relationship. He and Ash just fell into it, moving from friends that had sex to roommates that had sex. The domestic part of his relationship with Lisa was a mess from the very beginning. What if he doesn’t know how to do this? It’s one thing to put himself out there and take the risk of getting hurt, but if he screws this up, it's not just himself or Cas he’s hurting. Ben’s comfort with Cas shows that he has accepted Cas as a member of the family and if Dean screws this up for him, he'll never forgive himself. The last thing he ever wants is to hurt Ben.

“Hey, bug, you wanna put the dishes on the table?” Dean says, trying to focus on the task at hand. He pulls drinks and bottled marinara sauce from the fridge and sets them on the counter. When Ben jumps up and grabs the plates without Dean needing to ask a second time, he reminds himself how far they’ve come this year, in large part because of Cas.  Just one more thing he’s risking screwing up if things go bad. Dean sighs before closing his eyes and running one hand down over his face.

“Are you okay?” Cas’ voice is gentle and steadying, right there beside him. There’s an undercurrent of worry, so Dean opens his eyes and forces a smile.

“Sure, just tired, I guess. This final push to get the GTO done by Saturday is wearing me out.”

Cas leans in and nuzzles along Dean’s jaw to his ear, then whispers, “After Ben goes to bed, I could rub your shoulders for you.”

Dean raises one eyebrow. “A shoulder rub doesn’t really sound like the kind of thing Ben needs to be in bed for.”

“Maybe your shoulders aren’t the only thing I’ve been thinking about rubbing,” Cas says with a wink, before turning to pick up a serving dish in each hand. He spins away before Dean can reach for him and takes the food out to the table.

Sparks of arousal dance through Dean, making his dick twitch, and he takes a moment to settle himself before he follows them into the dining room. This he gets. Sex is easy. He understands pleasure and how to make someone else feel good, but this isn’t just falling into bed with Cas. It’s Dean cooking dinner and Cas helping Ben with his homework like they’re _partners;_ like Cas is Ben’s _father_ and not just the guy Dean is fucking.

Sex has been such an integral part of every relationship he’s ever been in that the waiting and planning and teasing are killing him. Although they’ve been together for more than two months, they’ve only had sex the one time. Their relationship consists of an endless cycle of texts, phone calls, and dinner, with an occasional heavy makeout session that ends with Dean jerking off in the shower. There’s no template for this.

Dean knows he’s good at sex. He and Ash certainly never had any problems in that department and the sex was always good with Lisa, right up until the end. But sex obviously wasn’t enough for Ash to stick around for and Lisa made it really clear that it was his failings as a boyfriend that she couldn’t live with, not his performance in the bedroom.  What if he never figures that part out? What if he really is broken and he can’t love Cas the way he deserves to be loved? Although Cas seems to enjoy their physical relationship, he’s clearly not in this just to get off. He wants a full partnership and that’s the one thing Dean isn’t sure he knows how to do. How long will Cas be willing to wait?

“Are you bringing the drinks?” Cas calls from the other room, snapping Dean out of his near panic attack.

Right. Dinner. This is something he does know how to do. When he first got full custody of Ben after Lisa’s death, he was terrified that he wouldn’t know what to do. His father looked him in the eye and said _you fake it until you make it_. So that’s what he’ll do. He can pretend to be good at being in a relationship and maybe someday he really will be.

“Yeah, sorry, I got ‘em,” he calls, gathering up the drinks and heading into the dining room with a smile.

Cas has already served the pinwheels and a scoop of green beans on each plate, so Dean deposits the drinks and slides into his seat at the head of the table. “Thanks,” he murmurs, reaching for Cas’ hand and squeezing it.

Dinner goes as well as it always does. Cas compliments the food and Ben complains about the green beans. They tell stories about work and school, talk about their families, and Ben quizzes them on Pokemon statistics, his new obsession thanks to an older boy on his school van. It’s so incredibly easy that Dean almost forgets about his moment of dread in the kitchen. If life with Cas is just stringing together an endless series of little moments like this, maybe it’s not as hard as it seems.

After dinner, they clear the table and Dean rinses the dishes while Cas fills the dishwasher. They pack up the leftovers and Dean makes sure to make two containers so Cas can take some home with him. Once the dishwasher is started, they make their way to the living room and Cas pulls his laptop out of his bag.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asks, propping the computer on the edge of the coffee table.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Of course not. I’d rather you were here and if you have to get some work done, there’s no reason you can’t do it. I just don’t want me and Ben to distract you.”

Cas smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’d rather be here, too.”

While Cas boots up his computer and Ben transfers all the pieces for his robot into the living room, Dean runs out to the garage to throw a load of laundry in the wash. No matter what else is happening, the day-to-day things need to get done. While he loads the washing machine, Dean tries to imagine Cas at his house, doing all the little chores that make the house run. Washing clothes, cleaning the bathroom, dusting, and vacuuming. For some reason, he has a hard time picturing Cas doing such mundane things.

Cas flips through files and enters things into the computer while Dean channel surfs and answers texts from Bobby about the arrangements for Crowley to pick up the GTO on Saturday. Finishing the car has been exhausting and stressful and one of the most satisfying Dean has ever done. He’s had more fun at work in the last month than he ever has before and the thought of going back to just changing oil and rebuilding engines is oppressive.

Cas’ fingertips smooth across his brow, drawing his attention up from the phone. “What are you thinking so hard about?” Cas strokes a few more times, smoothing the lines where Dean’s brow furrows and Dean lets his face relax under Cas’ ministrations.

“The GTO and going back to work as a plain old mechanic,” he admits.

Cas leans forward and places a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think you could be a plain old mechanic if you tried, Dean.” Dean scoffs, a soft punch of air that sounds less like a laugh than he intended it, but Cas just narrows his eyes.

“Daddy, Cas, look, it works,” Ben exclaims, shoving his completed robot between them before Cas can continue. “It works just like Ash said it would.” He places the robot on the coffee table and presses a button on the remote, sending it careening toward Cas’ papers. Dean snatches them up before the robot can scatter them.

“That’s awesome, bug,” Dean says. “Maybe you can design a robot to vacuum for me.”

Ben laughs, throwing himself onto Dean’s lap. “Daddy, you’re silly. There’s already robots that vacuum. I saw it on TV. I need to invent a robot nobody has.”

Cas chuckles and reaches over to ruffle Ben’s hair. “That’s right. Maybe Mr. Tran can help you think of something.”

“Mr. Tran said we’re going to start studying constellions.”

Dean and Cas look at each other and smile. “Constellations,” Cas corrects.

“Right,” Ben agrees, then scrunches up his face. “Daddy, can you take a video to send to Ash?”

Dean freezes, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Cas. “Yeah, okay, put it on the floor and I’ll take a video.”  He doesn’t look at Cas again, mostly because he’s afraid of what he’ll see. Ben puts the robot on the floor and Dean crouches down to record the toy coming at him with Ben in the background, then quickly attaches it to a text. “It might take him a little while to respond. He’s probably not home from work yet.”

Dean still doesn’t look over at Cas, even though the other man hasn’t shown any reaction to the proceedings. Does Cas think it’s weird that Dean knows when Ash gets home from work? Would he say anything even if he did? He wants to show Cas that he’s committed to their relationship, but cutting Ash out has been difficult, especially when it comes to Ben.

“Isn’t it getting close to bed time anyway?” Cas asks. He doesn’t sound like he’s upset, which relaxes Dean immediately. “You could get your bath while you’re waiting for him to respond.”

Ben immediately agrees and Dean is relieved that Cas doesn’t seem to think this is a big deal. Cas runs Ben’s bath while Dean helps him pick out a pair of pajamas, then Cas finishes up his paperwork while Dean transfers the laundry from the washing machine to the dryer. Once Ben is done in the bath, Dean washes his hair while Cas sets out his snack. The routine runs so smoothly that it’s as if Cas has always been a part of it.

There’s a sense of calm that comes with always being a step ahead of schedule, with Cas anticipating what Dean needs and having it done before Dean even thinks to ask. They move together like they’ve been partners in this for years. Dean’s never had that before, never had someone that he could count on in that way.

Household chores with Ash were always something they put off until one or the other finally got fed up and did them. The last dish in the cupboard or last pair of underwear was usually the tipping point. With Lisa, nothing Dean did was right anyway, so he tended to avoid doing chores with her. She left him a list and he finished it, end of story.

When Dean and Ben finally make it to the kitchen, he sees that Cas has gone to the pantry and opened a new pack of cookies because there were only two, not three, left in the old bag. It’s such a small thing that Dean feels silly when he gets choked up, almost overwhelmed with gratitude. He threads his arms around Cas from behind, resting his chin on the other man’s shoulder as he pours the milk.

“You’ll be cleaning it up if you make me spill it,” he cautions, tilting his head so that Dean can mouth along the side of his neck.

Dean sucks lightly just below Cas’ ear, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to cause the other man to push his hips back to grind his ass against Dean. “Let’s get this kid to bed,” Dean murmurs, edging forward enough that Cas can surely feel his growing erection against him.

When Cas starts to turn to set the glass on the table, Dean steps away with a smirk, enjoying the slightly glassy look in Cas’ eyes. “I’m not the one holding it up,” Cas teases.

Dean and Cas both munch on cookies while they wait for Ben to finish, the atmosphere so light and mellow that Dean’s phone startles him when it goes off, the first few notes of an old Foghat song indicating a text.

**[Ash] 7:53PM: SWEET! Glad he likes it. Got some badass decals I’ll bring next time I’m home.**

He turns the ringer off and slides the phone back into his pocket. Dean thinks about leaving out the part about the decals when he tells Ben what Ash said, but he figures that it’s better to put it out in the open so that Cas can get upset if he wants rather than hiding it as if he’s doing something wrong. When Ben immediately starts chattering about how he’ll decorate the robot, Dean watches Cas. The other man helps Ben clear his dishes and continues the conversation about what kind of decals Ash might bring as they walk down the hallway to the bathroom. Dean is relieved that he doesn’t seem upset about it.

Teeth brushed, Ben tucked in bed, and three songs later, Dean drops onto the couch next to Cas, who is tucking his laptop back into his messenger bag. “Did you at least get done what you needed to get done?”

Cas sets the bag on the floor at the end of the couch and leans back, letting his head rest against Dean’s shoulder. “I did. I’m glad I could work here so I still got to see you. I hate that we’re so busy.”

Dean tips his head to the side to rub his cheek against Cas’ hair, the sharp citrus smell of his shampoo making his nose tingle. “I know. Me too. We can always do this, but it’s sometimes hard to find someone to watch Ben. I just don’t want you to think I’m pushing him on you.”

“Why would I think that?” Cas asks, lifting his hand to run lazily up and down Dean’s thigh. “I enjoy spending time with Ben. I don’t just tolerate him to be able to see you. I love you both, Dean.”

Dean huffs a small sigh, his breath making Cas’ hair move. “I know. I guess I’m just not used to that.”

Cas leans away, twisting so that he and Dean are face to face. “Well, get used to it, because I’m not going anywhere.”

A small shift of bodies and Cas’ mouth is on his, tongue sweeping lazily across his lips until Dean opens to him. Getting lost in the heat of Cas is easy, the taste of chocolate chip cookies and milk on Cas’ tongue, the little noises he makes that Dean is quickly becoming addicted to. It all combines into an undertow that he doesn’t even try to fight.

Dean skims one hand down Cas’ chest, ghosting over his nipple and elicitng a groan that Dean swallows down as soon as it surfaces. He curls his fingers around Cas’ hip, biting back his own moan when Cas nips at his lower lip, the little shot of pain fading into pleasure. Breath coming quicker, he tugs at Cas’ shirt, pulling it free from his waistband until he can splay his fingers against bare skin.

When Cas moves, breaking the kiss, Dean is afraid he has done something wrong, but Cas just trails his lips across Dean’s jaw and down to his neck. His tongue flicks out every few inches, tasting, teasing, leaving a trail of fire behind. With another prolonged groan, he twists again and Dean finds himself pinned to the couch as Cas straddles his lap. His body undulates slowly against Dean, sending little shockwaves to Dean’s dick with each movement, as he licks and sucks his way across the front of Dean’s neck to the other side.

With better access, Dean pulls Cas’ shirt completely free until he can slide both hands up his sides, thumbs rubbing little circles just below Cas’ ribs. Cas bites at his neck again, sharper this time, and Dean bucks against him involuntarily, the movement rubbing their hard cocks together. “Dammit, Cas. I missed you so much, missed touching you,” Dean murmurs, arching into Cas as he bites down on Dean’s earlobe.

“Me, too, Dean.  Missed seeing you like this, watching you come apart for me. It’s not the same, touching myself, as it is having your hands on me,” Cas answers, hands sliding up Dean’s chest to rub the pads of his fingers against the hard nubs of Dean’s nipples through his shirt.

“Do you think about me when you jack off, Cas, think about me touching you? Do you think about my cock inside you?” Dean whispers gutturally, twisting so that he can capture Cas’ mouth again before he answers.

There’s a brief battle for dominance, the soft, wet curl of Cas’ tongue against his, before Dean pulls away again. Breathless, panting against the corner of Dean’s mouth, Cas responds with a long, deep moan. “I do. I wrap my hand around my dick and imagine it’s you, your mouth, your hand, anything. I just need to feel your touch.”

Dean slides his hands back down, thumbs skimming over Cas’ hipbones, then pops the top button on Cas’ slacks before shoving the zipper down. With no other warning, he reaches inside and wraps his fingers around Cas’ hard length, pulling him out into the night air. Dean jacks him a few times, fingers trailing over the head, already leaking and wet, before letting go. Cas whines, shoving himself forward, but Dean just chuckles softly and makes quick work of freeing his own cock from his jeans.

He reaches for Cas’ hand and brings it up to lick a long, wet stripe across his palm, before pushing it down and nudging until Cas wraps his fingers around both of them. “Show me,” he orders. “Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me.”

Cas’ eyes are wide, pupils blown black, but he keeps them open and on Dean’s face as he slowly begins an upstroke, twisting lightly to grind their cockheads together before sliding back down. A few long, maddening strokes is all Dean can take before he surges forward again, capturing Cas’ mouth for another wild kiss.

Dean can’t stop his body from thrusting up into Cas’ fist with every stroke, every slide of their cocks together driving him closer to the edge.

“Daddy?”

Cas jerks back like he’s been shot, hand trapped between them as they both go still. Fuck. Ben’s voice is a lot closer than Dean is comfortable with when his dick is in another man’s hand.  He turns his head slightly and looks toward Ben’s room, and sure enough, his son’s small body is barely visible in the dim light just four feet away. Thankfully, Ben can’t see past the back of the couch from where he’s standing, but it’s still enough to bring everything to a grinding halt.

“I can’t find Benson,” he says, a little hitch in his voice. “I woke up and I tried to go back to sleep like you said, but he’s not there. I tried to look under the bed, but I couldn’t see in the dark. I can’t sleep without him, daddy. Can you come help me?” An edge of panic seeps into Ben’s voice as he talks and Dean knows they’re just moments away from a full out meltdown if he doesn’t calm Ben down.

Dean clears his throat to normalize his voice before he answers. “I’m sure he just fell behind the bed, bug. Go ahead back in your room and I’ll be there in a minute to help look.” Mercifully, Ben turns and head back to his room without an argument. Cas, wonderful, quick thinking Cas, is already tucking them both back into their pants and doing what he can to fasten them before Ben even clears his doorway.

Dean lets his head fall forward to press their foreheads together with a strangled laugh. “Uh, you’re gonna have to get up,” he points out.

Cas nods, his cheeks flushed and red even in the pale light. “I think I may die from mortification. I should just go while you’re dealing with him.”

Dean growls softly and wraps one hand around the back of Cas’ neck. “Don’t you dare,” he declares. “I will be right back and we are finishing this.”  He’ll be damned if he spends another night jerking off when he could be touching Cas.

Cas slides off his lap and Dean stands up, making sure he’s completely tucked in and buttoned, regardless of how uncomfortable it is, before he heads to Ben’s room. Sure enough, Benson is right where he expected to find him, wedged between Ben’s bed and the wall. He tucks the stuffed animal in along Ben and gives him another kiss before walking back out to the living room.

He finds Cas sitting on the couch, hands folded in his lap, but staring at the door like he’s still contemplating bolting. Dean reaches for him, taking one hand, and pulls him to his feet. “Come back to the bedroom where we can lock the door,” Dean coaxes. “It was stupid to mess around out here.”

Cas pulls back, trying to free his hand, but Dean holds tight, so he just sighs. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Dean, with Ben right across the hall.”

“Cas, if you leave right now, I’m going to be jerking off in my room with Ben right across the hall. What’s the difference?”

“Dean,” Cas scolds. “I don’t want to upset Ben.”

Dean tries tugging again, but Cas is adamantly stationary. “Listen,” he pleads. “Millions of people have more than one kid. That means at least some of them were having sex with their kids in the house. Hell, my parents probably conceived Sammy less than fifteen feet from where I was sleeping.” He thinks about what he just said and shudders before continuing, “We’ll be quiet and he’ll never know the difference. Cas, man, don’t make me beg. I need you.”

Cas’ eyes are wide, the blue dark with arousal as he stares at Dean. Finally, he nods and when Dean pulls him forward, he goes along easily. Dean says a silent prayer to whatever gods are in charge of him not dying from blue balls.

The door is barely closed and locked behind them when Dean pulls Cas against him, hands dropping to Cas’ ass for leverage to grind against him. Cas’ mouth is hot and wet and even though he seems hesitant at first, it doesn’t take him long to get with the program again. They take the several steps to Dean’s bed without letting go of each other, an unorganized shuffle that is interrupted every few steps for Dean to rut against Cas.

When they reach the bed, Dean quickly undoes Cas’ pants again, shoving both slacks and underwear down together as he drops to his knees. He barely gives Cas a moment to breathe before he’s swallowing his cock down, head bobbing to allow him to lick and suck on the head. Cas shoves one fist against his mouth, holding back a groan, and Dean teases him a little by tonguing at the slit before pulling off to grin up at him.

“Get up here,” Cas growls, forcing Dean to stand before freeing his cock from his pants again. Despite the traumatic interruption, he’s still half-hard and it only takes a few strokes before he’s shoving his jeans down to step out of them. He rips his shirt over his head and tosses it across the room while he waits until Cas does the same. As soon as Cas is naked, Dean tackles him onto the bed.

Cas licks his own palm this time, the sight nearly making Dean’s eyes roll back in his head, and wastes no time taking them both in hand again. He sets a brutal pace, squeezing with a slight twist then releasing enough to just let them glide between his fingers. “Oh shit, Cas,” Dean groans, head dropping forward to rest on Cas’ shoulder. From this angle, he can watch their dicks slide through Cas’ fingers and the sight pushes him even closer to the edge.

“Dean, feels so good, love feeling you sliding against me,” Cas pants against Dean’s temple, his breath hot against Dean’s feverish skin. ‘

Dean rolls his hips forward, thrusting harder into Cas’ hand. “Tell me, baby, tell you what you want.”

Cas’ grip tightens, the slick drag of his hand almost too much as he pushes them harder, faster toward climax. “I want you to come, Dean, want to feel you all over me. I want to be the one to make you feel good.”  He quickens the pace and Dean pulls his hand away from the death grip he has on Cas’ hip to wrap his fingers around Cas’, both of them jacking their cocks together, bodies rolling against each other.

Dean raises his head to mouth wetly at Cas’ collarbone, sucking and teething at the skin until Cas is gasping against him. “I want to lay you out on my bed, Dean, tie you down and have my way with you. Tease you and torment you and then, when you can’t take anything else and you’re begging for it,” he pauses, hand squeezing rhythmically around their dicks, “I’ll open you up and slide inside, fill you with my cock until I’m all you know.”

The image that Cas’ words evoke spears through Dean, Cas buried to hilt inside him, splitting him open while he lays bound and gagged, helpless to do anything but take it, completely owned by Cas. Pleasure, hot and bright, streaks through him, muscles clenching as he shoots his release between them, coating both of their chests. The bliss is so overwhelming that he barely registers Cas following him over the edge, his cock throbbing and twitching against Dean’s.

They fall apart onto their backs, both panting, muscles lax and loose. Dean opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, unable to find the words. He tries two more times before he manages to gasp, “Holy fuck,” in a long low breath.

Cas chuckles, his breathing just as ragged as Dean’s. “Amen,” he mutters, pulling a chuckle from Dean as well.

They lay side by side, only their shoulders and clasped hands touching as their breathing slows. After a few minutes, Cas asks softly, “Would you want that? Me inside you?”

Dean turns his head to make eye contact. “My reaction wasn’t answer enough?”

“I just, you said you didn’t usually, before, and I didn’t want to presume.”

“Cas.” Dean pulls their clasped hands up to his mouth and runs his tongue along their knuckles, lapping up their combined release. He enjoys the way Cas’ breath hitches at the sight. “I want that. Exactly like you described. I want you to put those leather cuffs on me and tie me down and show me who I belong to.”

Cas’ eyes widen at his words. He stares, blue irises a thin ring around his pupils, right into Dean’s eyes, their chests rising and falling in time with each other. Finally, after what feels like forever, Cas swallows, throat working hard, and he nods with a slight dip of his head.

Dean wants nothing more than to pull Cas against him and fall asleep, but they’re still filthy and dried come is no one’s friend so he eeks out a few more minutes before forcing himself up. He pulls on his boxers and t-shirt, wincing at the way it sticks to his chest, then grimaces. “I’ll get something to clean up,” he offers. He pauses at the door, looking back to appreciate the view of Cas lying sated in his bed, a dopey smile curving his lips.

When Dean returns with two wet washcloths, Cas already has his clothes piled on the bed next to him, ready to put back on. Dean strips and wipes himself down while Cas does the same. When Cas reaches for his clothes, Dean lays one hand on top of his. “You don’t have to go. You could stay.”

Cas looks at him steadily without answering for a moment, as if he’s contemplating it, then shakes his head. “I need to get back. I have some things I need to do in the morning.”

Dean sighs, trying not to take Cas’ words as a rejection. It isn’t just the sex that Dean misses. Memories of the night he fell asleep in Cas’ arms haunt him, making him ache. Maybe Dean was wrong and Cas doesn’t want that. Maybe he doesn’t want the complication that actually sleeping together brings. _If the sex is good enough,_ Dean tells himself, _that’s all that matters_. He forces himself to swallow past the lump in his throat and nods. He pulls on pajama bottoms and walks Cas to the door.

Cas shifts his bag on his shoulder to lean in and brush his lips across Dean’s. “Good night, Dean,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

Dean swallows hard and nods, the words like a punch to his solar plexus. “I know.”

Cas smiles, a small, almost sad expression, and then pulls the door open. Despite the chill, Dean waits until he backs out of the driveway and disappears into the night before he closes it. He stops in the bathroom to brush his teeth before walking back into his bedroom, the messy blankets covering the bed a reminder of what he and Cas just did.

With a long sigh, he pulls his phone from his jeans and walks over to plug it into the charger, but the flashing blue light catches his eyes. He thumbs the screen on, seeing three missed texts and a missed phone call from Ash, but no voicemail.

**[Ash] 8:34PM: Dude, gimme a call. I got news.**

**[Ash] 8:56PM: Come on, man. I need to talk to you.**

**[Ash] 9:17PM: Where the fuck are you? Call me.**

The phone call came in between the first and second texts. Dean thinks about just turning the phone off and going to bed. After the rollercoaster of emotions tonight, he really doesn’t want to deal with Ash. With a sigh, he settles back against the headboard and pulls the covers up to his waist, then punches the phone icon.

“Jesus Christ, man,” Ash’s voice pours through the speaker. “I thought you fucking died or something. What the hell?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I was busy, Ash. What do you need?”

“Busy? It’s a school night and the kid went to bed over an hour ago. I know you’re not bangin’ the teacher with Ben right there, so what the hell else were you doing that was so damn important?”

Dean opens his mouth to snap a reply back, but he just sighs instead. “Just busy,” he insists. “Did you need something?”

“I got an interview.”

“What?” Dean knows perfectly well what he means, but none of the other responses bouncing around in his head seem suitable.

“I’m comin’ home in a couple weeks for an interview in Kansas City. I thought you’d wanna know.”

Dean doesn’t respond for a long time, his thoughts a tangle of threads that he can’t seem to weave together into a coherent response. Ash is coming home. Seven years later and Ash is coming home, possibly to stay. “Why?” is all he can think to say.

Ash sighs and the sound harsh through the phone. “You know why. I fucked up and I’m tired of doing this. This is my chance to fix it.”

Dean presses one hand over his eyes, squeezing his temples where he can feel his pulse pounding. “You can’t fix it, Ash. We’re done. I’ve moved on,” he tries, voice thick with emotion. After all this time, the one thing he always wanted and never thought he’d be able to have, and Ash is handing it to him like it’s nothing; like Dean hasn’t ached for this for years.

“I don’t think you mean that.” Ash’s voice cracks, which is worse than if he was his usual cocky self. Dean doesn’t know how to handle this, so he resorts to the one thing that always works. Anger.

“Fuck you, Ash,” he bites out, tamping down the desire to pitch the phone across the room. “Just fuck you. You ripped my fucking heart out and now that I’m moving on, I’m making a life for me and Ben, a life with Cas, you’re just gonna waltz in and turn everything on its ear? I can’t fucking believe you.”

There’s silence. A long, painful silence during which the only sound is Ash’s breathing. Finally, just as Dean is about to hang up, Ash gives a wet cough that sounds almost like he’s crying. “I love you, Dean,” he says softly.

It’s been seven years since he’s heard those words from Ash, words he never thought he’d hear again. They rip through him like a jagged knife, carving him open to allow all the pain that he’s buried to seep out. “I can’t. I can’t fucking do this. It’s, fuck, Ash, why are you doing this to me?” Dean pleads, his voice breaking as he bites back a sob. He will not cry over this. It’s not fucking worth it.

“I’m coming home, Dean, and I’m going to fix this. I’m going to make this right for you and Ben.”

Dean pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at the snapshot of him and Ash on the screen. It’s a picture taken during their last summer together, before the job offer, before Ash loaded Dean’s heart onto a plane and flew off to California with it. He can hear Ash’s voice, tinny with the distance, still coming through the tiny speaker, but he can’t make out the words. A single tear trickles down his cheek, leaving a wet path behind. Angrily, he swipes his hand across his cheek and jams his thumb down on the screen, ending the call without another word.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one! Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> By the way, in case anyone has questions they'd rather not ask in the comments, you can find me on Tumblr and Gmail as JhanaMay and Twitter as SPNJhanaMay. Feel free to drop me a line. :)

The purr of the engine has a slightly different timbre than his Baby, but Dean can’t deny that the GTO is freaking fun to drive. Shifting through the gears, he presses down on the accelerator until they’re doing well over the speed he should be doing in a customer’s car, empty corn fields flashing past them.

“Jesus, Dean, this thing flies,” Jess exclaims from the passenger seat, one foot braced against the floor while the other grabs for the dash as Dean sends the car into a series of small s-curves. “Did you put her on the dyno?”

Dean scoffs. “Of course. Am I an amateur? She’s pushing 290 at 5,200 RPMs and about 350-foot-pounds of torque. A bit better than the Impala, but we won’t tell her that, right?” He gives Jess a stern look, drawing a laugh.

“Of course not,” she agrees with a roll of her eyes. “Wouldn't want her to get jealous.”

“Damn straight.” He shoots her a cocky grin and shoves his foot down when they enter a long straight stretch, definitely exceeding both legal and sane speeds for a few moments before he eases off and lets the car settle into a more sedate pace.

They cruise for a while, matching smiles, while Jess fiddles with the upgraded radio. She stops on a classic rock station playing Bad Company and leans back against the seat. “Nice to see you worked the kinks out of whatever was bothering you this morning.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “You just about bit Bobby’s head off,” she points out.

He doesn’t respond at first, not even to offer some brush-off. Even Ben has commented on how short-tempered Dean has been all week. He was so wound up last night that Ben asked him if he needed wrapped in a blanket to calm down. He’s tried to put it down to stress over handing over the GTO, but he knows that’s not the case. It’s what he tells Jess anyway.

“This is a big deal. If this dude don’t like the car, we’re screwed.”

Jess waits while he brings the car to a stop at an intersection, then turns right to head back into town. He can see her watching him out of the corner of her eye. “How long have we known each other? You know I’m going to get it out of you eventually anyway, so why don’t you save us both the trouble and tell me what’s going on? Are you and Cas fighting?”

“No,” Dean barks immediately. If anything, things with Cas have been amazingly good. He and Ben are even planning to stay over at Cas’ house tonight so that they can drive into Topeka first thing in the morning to visit the kid’s museum there. Life with Cas is incredible. “We’re good. Real good, in fact.”

“Then what is it?”

Jess is like a dog with a bone when she wants to know something, worse than Charlie and Sam put together, and she has a freaky sixth-sense about when Dean is lying to her. It’s both infuriating and endearing at the same time. Dean sighs, drumming his fingers on the top of the gear shift. “Ash called the other night,” he admits.

“I should have known. It’s hard not to love the guy, but he’s a massive pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, well, apparently he’s got a job interview in Kansas City in two weeks.”

Jess gasps softly. “And let me guess, he thinks you’re gonna drop everything and welcome him back with open arms?”

Dean barks a sharp laugh. “Somethin’ like that.” 

“Asshole.”

Dean nods, another laugh escaping. He brings the car to a stop behind a line of cars at an intersection and chances a glance at her. Her lips curl up into an annoyed pout.

“You’re not thinking about taking him back, are you?”

Given that he’s spent the last seven years fantasizing about this exact scenario, he’s a little surprised by his instant reaction. “Hell no.”

Jess narrows her eyes. “Really? I mean, he’s got a way of twisting you up.”

Dean shakes his head vigorously. “No way. That’s in the past. I’m with Cas now.” He busies himself shifting through the gears as he pulls out from the stop sign and tries to imagine Ash living with him and Ben. “You know, if he’d pulled this last summer I woulda been thrilled, but bein’ with Cas made me see that Ash don’t fit in my life anymore.”

“So even if you and Cas broke up?”

“First, that’s not gonna happen, but yeah, even if me and Cas don’t work out, there’s no way Ash is ready to be a parent to Ben.” He laughs harshly. “It would be like raisin’ two kids.”

Jess raises both brows. “Wow. I never thought I’d hear you say that about Ash. You’re always defending him.”

Dean wants to argue with that, but he knows she’s right. He has let Ash get away with a lot of things he shouldn’t have. Looking back, he realizes that he spent seven years afraid of losing him even though Ash had already made his choice. “It just pisses me off that I spent all this time wishin’ he was here. Him bein’ gone has hurt for so long that it just became second nature, I guess, and now that I’m gettin’ my wish, I can see that it was a stupid thing to want to begin with.”

Jess covers his hand where it rests on the gear shift and squeezes. “You loved him and part of you still does.”

He swallows hard. “I do, but not like that anymore. The worst part is that I don’t know if I’m sad or just really grateful that this didn’t happen before I met Cas. I would never have known how it can be. Me and Ash woulda been a trainwreck and Ben woulda suffered because of it.”

They turn down the street toward the garage and Dean can see Cas’ Camaro sitting out front. Dean told him that he didn’t need to be here, but he insisted. The settled feeling Dean gets just from seeing his car reinforces what he just told Jess.  

“Are going to tell Cas?”

Dean frowns. “Yeah, definitely. Last thing I need is it seemin’ like I was hiding it. I just don’t want to tell him too soon and make it look like it’s some big thing we need to prepare for. After all the bullshit at Christmas, I need him to see that it don’t matter what Ash does. Even if he moves back, Ben and I are going to be with Cas.”

Dean pulls around the back of the garage and parks the car in the shade of the building. Even out of the sun, the burgundy paint gleams under the clearcoat. He pockets the keys and follows Jess into the garage.

“I don’t understand why that would matter.”

Dean hears Cas’ voice before he sees him, confusion coloring his words. There’s a sharp bark of laughter and then Bobby’s voice answers, “It’s just a sayin’, Cas.” When Dean walks around the corner, Bobby is chuckling. He fixes his ratty old hat and gives Dean a wink.

“You’re not givin’ him a hard time are you, old man?” Dean warns, tugging Cas in for a quick kiss. Cas’ eyes widen like he wasn’t expecting the display of affection, so Dean runs his knuckles gently across Cas’ cheek before releasing him. He glances over to where Ben is sitting on the shop stool, engrossed in a book.

“Better watch who you’re callin’ old, boy. I still remember how to whoop your ass.”

Dean chuckles and turn to Jess. “I think Crowley has himself a counter offer. Jess might sign over the baby’s college fund to him.”  If feels good to be able to joke around now that Jess got the test results back showing that she isn’t likely to lose the baby.

“Hope you’re plannin’ on Ivy League, girl, ‘cause I don’t think he’s gonna want less than fifty-five,” Bobby teases, slapping Jess on the back.

“Could you imagine? Sam would shit a brick.” She sighs wistfully. “Maybe I’ll have to buy a beater and get Winchester Restorations to build it for me.”

Dean scoffs. “Winchester Restorations. Might be gettin’ a little ahead of yourself there. We don’t even know if he likes it yet.”

“Gabriel assured me that Mr. Crowley has been very happy with all of the photos you’ve sent him,” Cas adds.

Dean entwines his fingers with Cas’ and pulls him closer. “Pictures are a little different than the real thing, babe. We gotta see if he likes how she handles and everything, the whole package.” His phone buzzes and he reads the text before he takes a deep breath. “He just rented a car in Kansas City, so he’ll be here in less than an hour. Shit. What if he doesn’t like it?”

Cas squeezes his hand. “It will be fine, Dean. You do beautiful work and everyone knows it. Soon Mr. Crowley will know it too.”

Before Dean can start to panic, Ben slides off the stool. “Daddy, can I go play with Rumsfeld?”

Dean looks out the back door at the old hound dog laying in the dirt. “Sure, bud, if you can get him to play,” he says with a laugh. “Just stay in the back, away from the road. Don’t go too far into the junk yard. It’s easy to get lost back there.”

“I can go out and keep an eye on him,” Jess offers. “Sam is still golfing or whatever boring thing lawyers do during Saturday business meetings.” She follows Ben out the door into the warm spring afternoon.

Bobby excuses himself to the office to finish up some paperowork. “Don’t get into no trouble back here,” he grouses. Dean blushes at Bobby’s reminder of the trouble he and Ash used to get into in the back of the garage.

Although the garage is open on Saturdays, Dean almost never works on the weekends. It’s one of the perks of being faux-related to the boss. The sound of air tools echoes from the front bay and the radio belts out a crappy adult contemporary station, making Dean shudder.

“You need to relax,” Cas says, bringing up both hands to squeeze Dean’s shoulders.

Dean leans into the touch, letting his eyes slip closed. Though he went to bed at a decent hour, he stared at the ceiling for most of the night. It was hard not to imagine what things might have been like if Ash decided to come home earlier and the fantasies had played in his head all night. He was being honest when he told Jess he wasn’t even remotely considering letting Ash come between him and Cas, but the memories aren’t as easy to put into a box where they belong as they should be.

“I’ll relax when this deal is done and—”

A loud crash from outside drowns out the rest of Dean’s words, followed by Jess’ shout of Ben’s name. Dean is running out the door before the din even fades away. “What the hell happened?” he shouts, looking around frantically.

Ben is standing a few feet away from the GTO, his body folded into Jess’ arms. A large pile of pallets is strewn across the pavement in front of the the car. A sick feeling settles in Dean’s stomach. He rushes across the lot, eyes scanning the side of the immaculately restored vehicle. There are no marks that he can see, but there could be scratches that are hidden by the shadows.

“Ben was chasing the dog and they ran over that way before I could stop them. Rumsfeld hit the pallets with his tail and knocked them over,” Jess explains breathlessly.

Dean rounds the side of the car and looks along quarterpanel. There are still no scratches or dents, but the shock of what could have happened skates along his nerves. “What the hell were you thinking?” he yells, rounding on Ben and Jess. “That’s a fifty-thousand-dollar car and the money to fix it would have come out of my fucking pocket!”

Jess cringes, pushing Ben backward to step toward Dean. “Dean, it’s fine. They didn’t hurt the car.”

“But they could have. He should know better,” Dean continues, stalking to the front of the car to check for dents. Dread makes his pulse jump. If the clearcoat is scratched, he might need to respray the whole thing and there goes any profit they might have made.

“He was just playing and when Rumsfeld—”

“Shut it, Jess,” Dean barks. Ben is crying, small sobs interspersed with gulps of air, but Dean ignores him. “I busted my ass on this car for over a month and all that work coulda been for shit. You think he’s gonna hand over twenty-five large for a car that’s beat on?”

“Dean, it didn’t, the car is fine,” she tries again.

Dean steps toward them, hands opening and closing into fists. He opens his mouth to yell again, but Cas steps between them. “Enough, Dean,” he snaps sharply, his deep voice laced with irritation. “The car is fine and you’re upsetting him.”

Anger swirls through him, making him step forward into Cas’ personal space. “The car—”

“Is fine,” Cas says, narrowing his eyes. The dangerous look in his eyes gives Dean a moment of pause. He rasises one hand to press the palm against Dean’s chest, holding him back from stepping forward any farther. “You need to get control of yourself. What are you going to do? Hit me? Hit Jess? Ben? It was an accident and there is no damage.”

Dean heaves a gulp of air and steps back, forcing his fits to unclench. He would never hit one of them and the accusation makes him naseuous. “Cas, I—”

“No,” Cas says forcefully, his eyes reproachful. “Jess and I are going to take Ben for a walk and you are going to pull your shit together.” He doesn’t wait for Dean to respond, just scoops Ben up in his arms and walks off into the junk yard. He’s talking softly to Ben, who has his head pressed to Cas’ shoulder. Jess gives him a wide eyed look before she turns and follows.

Dean’s heart clenches painfully. “Son of a bitch,” he growls, kicking one of the pallets and sending it skidding away from the car. Dean has always thought that he inherited the quick trigger from his father, but he’s worked hard to control it. Knowing that a lack of sleep usually brings it out doesn’t help him when Cas is walking away, his disapproving look eating at Dean.

“What the hell’s all the ruckus,” Bobby shouts from the doorway, and Dean’s head snaps up.

“Ben and Rumsfeld knocked the pallets over and I, well—”

“Made a damn fool of yerself?” the older man finishes helpfully.

Dean sighs. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Bobby shakes his head reprovingly. “Too much like your daddy sometimes, boy. You gonna get that crap picked up ‘fore the bigwig gets here or keep sulkin’?”

Dean should have known better than to expect any sympathy from Bobby. He’s cleaned up enough of John messes to have no patience for the crap. “I’m cleanin’ it up.”

“Good, ‘cause accordin’ to my watch, you got fifteen minutes. Let’s not look like a buncha hillbillies, okay?”

“Yeah, Bobby. I got it. Go ahead. You want me to call you when he gets here?”

Bobby shrugs. “Not my deal. I got nothin’ to add. Just make sure you bring me a check, ‘cause we got bills to pay.”

It only takes Dean a few minutes to pick up the pallets and stack them against the wall a dozen feet from where the car sits. Rather than going inside to face Bobby or following Cas and Jess into the salvage yard, Dean plops himself down in the shade of the GTO.

Cas doesn’t really think Dean would hit him, does he? That he woud hit Jess or Ben? He remembers the run-in with Malachi and the stricken look on Cas’ face, the fine tremors that he couldn’t seem to stop. His stomach turns over painfully. How can Cas even stand being with him if he thinks Dean is the kind of man who would lash out with his fists?

He’s told Cas enough about his childhood, about John, for the other man to realize that anger issues are kind of a Winchester trait. Maybe this is it, the thing that makes Cas realize that Dean isn’t the kind of person he wants to be with. Fear claws icily up his back. Maybe that’s what Cas is telling Jess right now, getting advice on how to leave Dean. It’s not like Dean hasn’t been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He looks up at his reflection in the red-purple paint of the car, even though he can’t bring himself to meet his own eyes. If he and Cas don’t work, will he really keep Ash at arm’s length? Has he really changed at all? It’s easy to say Ash is wrong for him when he’s looking at the better option. Once Cas stops being able to put up with his shit, will there be anything keeping him from Ash, no matter how wrong for him and Ben he knows it is?

Dean snaps his head up at the sound of tires squealing on pavement, just moments before a silver Audi pulls around the building.  He drags himself to his feet before the door opens and a bearded man wearing dark aviator glasses climbs out. Dean doesn’t know a whole lot about suits, but even he can tell that the man’s clothes are expensive and tailored perfectly for him.

“Dean Winchester?” he asks in a polished English accent.

Dean wipes his hands on his thighs and steps forward. “Ah, yeah, you must be Mr. Crowley?”

“Just Crowley,” the man responds with a scowl. “Makes me sound like something out of a death metal song.”

Dean quirks a smile, since he’s had that Ozzy song running through his head every since Gabe told them about the car. “Crowley then. Good to meet you. Hope she’s everything you wanted.”  He tugs the keys out of his pocket and hands them over.

Together, they go over the car from front to back, top to bottom, inside and out. Dean explains each thing he replaced or repaired and Crowley asks enough questions that Dean is sure the man knows almost as much about cars as Dean does. His grin when Dean pops the hood then starts the car solidifies it.

“She purrs quite nicely,” Crowley compliments.

“You should hear her when you open her up.”

“Shall we take her out for a spin then?” Crowley climbs behind the wheel and Dean directs him out into the open countryside northeast of town. By the time they pull back into the lot behind the garage, they’re both smiling ear to ear and chatting like old friends. Dean walks Crowley around to the front of the garage and they go over both the Camaro and the Impala the same way.

“You more than earned this, I think,” Crowley says, pulling a folded slip of paper from the breast pocket of his suit.

Dean unfolds the paper and stares down at the cashier’s check, a light flush creeping up his neck.

“It’s real, I promise you,” Crowley says with a chuckle. “Keep your phone charged, Winchester. I’m sure you’ll be getting some calls once my associates see the work you’ve done here.”

Dean watches the taillights of the GTO until he can’t see them anymore, the entire time wondering if Crowley is serious about sending more business his way. He enjoys doing repairs, figuring out the puzzle of why something isn’t working and fixing it, but it isn’t nearly as fulfilling as breathing life back into a classic vehicle. Getting paid to do that seems almost like a dream.

Bobby is behind the gnarled old desk in his office when Dean wanders in. He smooths out the check and lays it in the center of the forms Bobby is looking at. “Damn,” Bobby says with a low whistle. “Looks like you did it, kid.”

“We did it, Bobby. Without the shop, I would never have been able to pull it off.”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who knows the shit and has the skill to get it done. Proud of you, boy.” He reaches into the top desk drawer and pulls out a folded slip of paper.

Dean is confused when Bobby hands it to him, especially when he opens it to find a check from Singer Salvage and Repair for three thousand dollars. “What is this?”

Bobby adjusts his hat and leans back in the creaky office chair. “Your cut of the profits.”

Dean frowns. “You paid me hourly for my time and you fronted the costs. Why would I get a cut of the profits?”

“Figured what we paid in parts and overhead on the garage, then I split it in half and took back what I already paid you in wages so that there is your share of what the garage cleared beyond what we woulda made without the job.”

“I can’t take this.”

“Bullshit, you idjit. You did the work, you pocket the money. And I been thinkin’, if you can line up some more jobs, we can look into using the back bay to open up the Winchester Restorations division of Singer Salvage.”

Dean’s eyes burn, but he quickly pushes back the emotion. “Bobby—”

“We’re done here. Gimme the keys for the rental so I can have Jake return it, then get out there and apologize to your man and your kid for bein’ an asshat.”

Dean throws the rental keys on the desk. “And Jess.”

Bobby huffs a laugh. “’Specially Jess. That girl’ll make your life downright miserable, you don’t smooth it over.”

Dean finds Ben and Cas sneaking through the back corner of the salvage yard, peaking around corners looking for Jess. The cars in the back of the lot have been here for so long that he remembers a lot of them from when he and Ash used to come back here to fool around. He swallows hard and waits for Cas or Ben to notice him.

He’s so focused on them that he almost jumps out of his skin when Jess grabs him from behind. “Guess she’s off to her forever home?” she asks with a crocked smile.

Dean nods. “Shit, Jess. I’m sorry ‘bout earlier,” he starts.

Jess leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I know, Dean. I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”  She quirks one eyebrow as she nods past him.

Dean turns and sees that Cas and Ben are watching him steadily from a few feet away. He kneels down and waits until Ben runs to him, throwing his arms around Dean’s neck. Dean breathes in the clean, crisp smell of Ben’s shampoo and fights back tears. “I’m sorry, bug,” he mutters into the top of his son’s head. “I was upset and I didn’t make good choices. I’m sorry I scared you. I know it was an accident.”

Ben nods into his neck, his hair tickling Dean’s nose, before releasing him. “I know, daddy. Maybe you need to use the cool down jar.”

Dean smiles, pulling Ben in to kiss his forehead. “That’s a good idea. Maybe you and Cas will help me make one of my own.” He looks up at Cas, eyes pleading the other man to forgive him.

At first, Cas just stares coolly back, but finally, his features soften and he sighs. “Ben,” he says evenly. “Why don’t you go back to the shop with Jess? We’ll meet you there in a little bit.”

Dean sends Jess another look of heartfelt gratitude when she settles Ben on her hip and heads back toward the garage. He waits for Cas to lay into him but there’s silence for several minutes. When Dean finally looks over at Cas, the other man is staring off into the distance as if he’s contemplating something; probably trying to figure out the best way to tell Dean it’s over.

“I’m sorr—”

Blue eyes flick over to his. “I know you’re sorry, Dean.” His voice sounds more tired than it was just moments ago. “I also know that you have been stressed over this project.”

The pit in Dean’s stomach burns. He looks away because he can’t bare to see the disappointment in Cas’ eyes and swallows past the lump in his throat. He knew he would do something to screw this up, he’s just surprised that it took him so long. He takes a deep breath and forces the words out. “If you want to break up, I get it, I just, you’re still welcome to see Ben whene—”

“Excuse me, what?” Cas’ shocked tone cuts through Dean’s rambling.

Dean’s eyes dart back to Cas. “You’ve become really important to Ben, so I wouldn’t keep you from seeing him if you want. After, you know, I’ll figure out how to explain it to him.”

Cas huffs an exasperated burst of air. “I’m not breaking up with you, Dean.”

Dean frowns in confusion. “You’re not?”

“Of course not, I love you, you infuriating man.”

Cas’ declaration breaks the dam inside of Dean. “I would never hit you, you know that right? I wouldn’t, Cas. I could never hurt you or Jess or Ben. I’m not, fuck, I know I’ve got a temper but you gotta know I wouldn’t do that.” Dean’s words tumble out frantically as he closes the gap between them. He cradles Cas’ cheeks in his palms, leaning in until their foreheads are pressed together.

“I know, Dean,” Cas says breathlessly, eyes boring into Dean’s like a laser. He slides his arms around Dean’s waist, holding on. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know that.”

Dean brushes a soft kiss across Cas’ lips. “I’m sorry,” he repeats uselessly.

Cas nods. “I know, but you can’t lash out like that, Dean. It was an accident and neither Ben, nor Jess, nor I deserved your anger. You keep it so tightly leashed most of the time, but I know when you’re not sleeping well, you tend to be more irritable. You just can’t take it out on us.”

Dean’s throat feels thick and he’s not sure he can speak, so he just nods. Shame and relief war for prominence in his chest. For whatever reason, this amazing man loves him enough look past all the ways he fucks up and Dean is nothing if not grateful. The words start to bubble up in his throat, pushing to come out and tell Cas how much he loves him, so fucking much, but they get stuck behind his ever present doubts. Is that love? Being grateful that someone stays with you instead of dumping your dumb ass? It seems no where near the selfless love that Cas showers him and Ben with every day.

They step apart, but Cas reaches for his hand, entwining their fingers as they walk back through the yard. “Everything went well with the car?”

Dean nods, thankful for something to distract him from the seething thoughts whirling around in his head. “He loved it. Bobby said that if we can find other costumers, he would back me opening a restoration business out of the shop.”

Cas’ smile is wide, lighting up his eyes as he leans in to press a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “That’s wonderful. I know that’s something you’ve always wanted.”

Dean squeezes Cas’ fingers, bringing his hand up to run his lips across Cas’ knuckles. “Seems like all my dreams are are coming true.”

Cas leans in, lips gently brushing the corner of Dean’s mouth as he whispers, “Mine too.”

* * *

* * *

The swirl of brightly lit planets and stars moves around the room, casting shadows over Dean as he strums his guitar. No matter how often Cas hears Dean sing, it’s so easy to get lost in the smoky timbre of his voice. Every so often, Dean looks up and catches Cas’ eye. He smiles so easily, so honestly, that it makes Cas’ breath catch.

The smooth vibration of the guitar fades away with the last notes of the song and Dean sets it aside to kiss Ben on the forehead. Watching Dean put Ben to bed in Cas’ guest room, freshly decorated in planets and stars, makes Cas’ heart skip a beat. From the new bed sheets and comforter to the painting of a galaxy exploding that Cas finished just last night, the room is perfect.

Dean provided the final touch when he brought the rotating lamp that matches the one Ben has at every family member’s house. Cas searched the internet for weeks and was unable to find one until Dean admitted that he had purchased extras in case one broke.

Cas backs out of the room, waiting until Dean follows before closing the door lightly. He wonders, sometimes, if they’re moving too fast by decorating a room for Ben or having him sleep over. Although it’s only been a matter of months, it doesn’t feel too fast unless he actually thinks about the timeline. Otherwise, it feels perfectly natural to have Ben and Dean in his home.

“It’s gonna be weird sleeping so far away,” Dean says, propping the guitar against the wall in the foyer. Cas’ bedroom is only a flight of stairs away, but it’s still quite a bit farther than the four feet separating their rooms at Dean’s house.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

Dean shrugs, accepting the bottle of beer that Cas holds out to him. Meg wasn’t happy about Cas keeping beer stocked in the house, but it’s not like Cas has any desire to drink it. He’s been keeping wine in the house for years with no issue, so beer wasn’t much different.

“I don’t know, guess we’ll have to wait and see. It’ll only be a problem if he wakes up and can’t find me.”  They gave Ben a tour of the house, walking from his room to the stairs and up to Cas’ bedroom several times, but doing it in the middle of the night is a different story.

“Installing an intercom might make him feel better.”

Dean glances up from where he’s peeling the label off the bottle. “That’s a pretty big upgrade.”

Cas shrugs. “Not really. It wouldn’t take much to have a system put in.”

Dean studies him, the intense scrutiny bringing a flush to Cas’ cheeks. “It seems awfully permanent.”

Cas comes around the island to slide his arms around Dean’s waist. He brushes his lips across the shell of Dean’s ear, enjoying the way the other man shivers in his embrace. How to make him understand that this _is_ permanent for Cas? “I know you’re still hesitant, Dean,” he says calmly, “but I’ve thought about this a lot. Maybe it’s too early in our relationship to be thinking this way, but when I imagine the future, I see us as a family, together, in one house. I think about going to bed with you and waking up with you, getting Ben ready for school and eating dinner together. It doesn’t have to be this house, but I do think about us living together.”

Dean turns in his arms and noses along Cas’ jaw. He takes a deep shuddering breath, and for a moment, Cas is afraid that he said too much, too soon. “I want that,” he whispers against Cas’ neck. “It scares the hell out of me, but I think about it too, about us being a family. I’ve never been good at this, but I want to be good at it for you.”

Cas sags in relief. He runs his hands up Dean’s back, cupping his shoulder blades to pull him in, mouth finding the sensitive patch of skin behind Dean’s ear and sucking gently. “Let’s go up to bed,” he murmurs, reveling in the fine tremor that passes through Dean’s body.

Dean smiles, his lips curving against Cas’ neck before he pulls away and downs the last swallow of beer. “Good idea.”

Cas turns out the lights and checks the locks on the doors, Dean trailing behind him, pressing light kisses to the back of his neck every time he stops. When he passes the guitar propped against the wall in the foyer, he picks it up and hands it to Dean. “Play for me?” he asks wistfully.

Dean takes the guitar with a small smile. “Not the kind of playing I had in mind.” His voice is a husky growl that skips across Cas’ nerve endings, leaving fire in its wake.

“Just a few songs. Humor me.”

Dean capitulates, carrying the guitar as he follows Cas up the stairs. As usual, Juliet tries to slip into the bedroom in front of Cas and whines when he firmly pushes her out and closes the door. “She’s going to start hating me,” Dean quips, propping the guitar against the nightstand. “She gets locked out whenever I come over.”

Cas raises one eyebrow. “That’s not the only time I lock her out.”

Dean catches the hint, stepping forward to tug Cas against him. “You kick her out so you can touch yourself, Cas? Don’t want her staring at you while you get off thinking about me?” He nips at the bolt of Cas’ jaw, threading fingers through Cas’ beltloops to hold him while he grinds their hips together.

Cas smirks, rocking into the friction. “She’s very distracting.”

Dean chuckles and releases him. For a moment, Cas wants nothing more than to pull him back, to continue what they started, but then Dean picks up his guitar and Cas remembers that he wanted Dean to play for him. He climbs onto the bed and settles himself against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. “Come here,” he murmurs, indicating the space between his spread legs.

Dean hesitates, then shrugs. He crawls over Cas’ leg and sits with his back against Cas’ chest, supporting the guitar in his lap. His body is a pleasant weight against Cas, pressing him back against the headboard.

Cas slides his hands up to rest lightly on Dean’s hips as he starts to strum a simple melody, a series of chords that soon coalesce into _Simple Man._ He mouths across the back of Dean’s neck, his body reverberating with the fine shudders that move through Dean. After a few moments, Dean starts to sing, his voice low and raspy.

Cas lets his head fall back against the headboard and closes his eyes. The vibrations of the guitar transfer through Dean’s body to his chest, making the music feel like its coming from inside him. There’s such a contrast between the man between his legs and the angry, barely controlled man that appeared earlier at Bobby’s. Cas has seen the anger in Dean enough times to know its there, but he’s never seen it bubble so close to the surface.

He honestly believes that Dean would never lash out and strike him or Ben, but there was something viciously terrible in Dean’s eyes today that gave Cas pause. He’s been more on edge than usual for the past week. Cas put it down to stress over the car, but even after it was safely on it’s way back to California, the tightly coiled agitation in Dean didn’t seem to lessen. Rather, Dean just pushed it farther down and covered it with fear of Cas’ reaction and remorse over his loss of control.

“Some of my best memories involve this guitar,” Dean says softly. Cas hadn’t noticed that Dean stopped singing, instead moving from melody to melody in a slowly undulating wave of music. “When I was eight, dad dumped us in this crappy little apartment in Rangely, Colorado. The old woman next door used to cook for us sometimes and I got to following her husband around, just watchin’ him play this old guitar.”

He stops, though his strumming doesn’t, and Cas thinks he’s finished until he takes a deep breath and leans his head back against Cas’ shoulder. “It was the middle of the night when dad woke us up and told us we were leaving. I was so angry, but I knew by then that arguing about it was pointless. We were packin’ up the Impala when this old guy comes out of his apartment. He’s got this guitar wrapped in a ratty sheet. He just laid it in the back seat of the car, squeezed my shoulder, and walked away. I never said thank you.”

Cas turns his head to press a kiss against Dean’s temple, the skin smooth against his lips.

“He’s got no idea how much this guitar has meant to me over the years.” His voice is rough. “It got me through lots of rough times, all the movin’, gettin’ used to livin’ in one place when Dad finally drug us back to Lawrence, the months after—”

His words cut off abruptly and Cas knows what he was about to say. “The months after Ash left,” Cas finishes softly for him. Cas wonders if it will ever get easier for them to talk about Ash.

Dean nods, his hands moving over the strings, pulling out rhythms and melodies that Cas knows as well as ones he’s never heard before. “Jimi Hendrix said music is his religion. Figure he got that right.”

The heat of Dean’s body pressing against him lulls Cas into a pleasant haze. He trails barely-there touches up Dean’s sides, fingers dipping under his t-shirt to rub little circles against the heated skin. Dean arches into the touch, hands stilling on the strings for a moment, until Cas moves on, smoothing his palms up Dean’s chest. A soft sigh escapes and when Dean starts to play again, his fingers aren’t as smooth as they were previously.

Cas nips at the juncture of neck and shoulder, using his teeth to pull Dean’s collar to the side far enough to suck a small mark on the skin there. When Dean moans, lolling his head to the side to give Cas better access, the sound slithers through him, filling the empty, cavernous places Cas tries to forget exist. His dick hardens against Dean’s ass and he grinds forward a little just to feel the friction.

Another soft groan, fingers coming to rest silently on the strings, tells Cas that Dean can feel his erection against his backside. Dean tilts his hips a little, grinding back, and it’s Cas’ whimper that fills the room. “I can feel you,” Dean breathes, his words a soft sigh. “Feel how hard you are for me.” He sets the guitar aside and wraps his hand around Cas’ wrist until he can pull Cas’ hand forward to press against his answering bulge. “It’s what you do to me too.”

Cas traces the hot, hard line of Dean’s cock through his jeans, fingers teasing over the head. He slips his other hand up Dean’s chest, fingertips skating over the smooth skin until he finds Dean’s nipple, rolling it between his fingers before giving a sharp tug. Dean arches into the pressure and brings his other hand up to increase the pressure of Cas’ hand stroking his dick.

“Thought you were gonna fuck me, Cas. Make me beg for you to fill me up.” Dean punctuates his words with short little thrusts of his hips, forward against Cas’ hand and back against his cock.

“You’d let me do that? Let me inside you?” Cas imagines sinking into Dean’s body, the slick, wet heat fluttering around him as he plunges inside.

“Of course. Told you I wanted it.” He dips his head to the side to nibble at Cas’ jawline, body continuing its gentle undulations.

Cas releases Dean to grasp sharply at his shoulder and tug until the other man gets the hint and allows himself to be manhandled until he’s facing Cas. He straddles Cas’ legs, grinding against him as he pulls Cas in for a wet, filthy kiss, tongue thrusting lazily into Cas’ mouth.

“Not so sure about your toy chest, though,” he mutters between kisses. “Or at least not all of it.”

Cas opens his eyes, studying Dean’s face through a haze of lust. “We don’t have to use—”

“Didn’t say I didn’t want to,” Dean corrects, hands skimming down to tug Cas’ shirt over his head. His own shirt follows, then the heat of bare, smooth skin glides over Cas’ chest when Dean leans back in for another dirty kiss. “Just said that I wasn’t sure about some of it.”

“Okay,” Cas says, pulling back again. “You know I wouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. We don’t have to use anything at all. Just the thought of being inside you is enough.”

“Maybe just,” Dean cuts off and ducks his head to hide the soft blush that is creeping up his cheeks. “Been thinking about those cuffs and the rope under your bed.”

Cas quirks one eyebrow. “You want me to restrain you?”

Dean glances away, then drags his eyes back, only a sliver of vibrant green visible around his dilated pupils. “Yeah, I guess,” he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Have you done it, been tied up?”

 Cas swallows roughly. “I have though I prefer to be the one doing the tying.”

“Like some kind of BDSM thing? You gonna be my dom?” Dean asks, voice teasing.

A smile tugs at the corners of Cas’ mouth. “Nothing quite so intense, Dean.”

“Uh, Cas, you’ve got nipple clamps and a paddle in your drawer. Seems pretty damn intense.”

Cas rolls his eyes and darts in for another kiss, lapping gently at Dean’s lower lip before pulling back again. “To be honest, they’ve never been used. A gift from Balthazar.”

Dean shakes his head with a laugh. “Dude, who the hell gives people sex toys as a gift?”

“Zar, apparently,” Cas retorts dryly.

“That’s just, wow.” Dean rocks forward again, mouth latching onto the dip in Cas’ clavicle and Cas can feel the blood rising to the surface in what he’s sure will be a bruise by tomorrow. “So, the ropes under the bed?”

Cas glances away as a moment of discomfort skitters through him, then finds Dean’s eyes again. “Those have been used, but only on me. Malachi was too insecure to ever be able to give up control.”

Dean’s eyes darken further, but in anger instead of arousal. “Did you hurt you?” he grinds out, bringing both hands up to cup Cas’ face.

Cas turns his head to the side to press a kiss against Dean’s palm. “He didn’t hurt me. He was just,” he struggles to find the right word, “indifferent to my feelings or my needs.”

“And you need to control me?”

“Maybe not need, but I would definitely like to.” Cas says it nonchalantly, but the thought of Dean tied down and at his mercy makes his dick twitch almost painfully.

Dean stares directly into his eyes for a moment before he swallows hard and nods. He rolls off Cas’ lap and stretches out on the bed alongside him. “How do you want me?”

“Are you sure about this?”

Dean shrugs. “Am I gonna need a safeword?”

“If you want one.” Cas rolls off the bed and stands looking down at Dean.

Dean stretches languidly and pops the top button of his jeans while giving Cas a heated look. “You’ll stop if I tell you to stop?”

Cas swallows hard. “Of course.”

Dean pushes the zipper down then shimmies out of the rest of his clothes until he’s stretched out gorgeous and naked across Cas’ bed. He trails one hand slowly up to cup his balls, fingers dragging up the length of his hard dick, then continuing up his chest to roll one nipple lazily between his fingers. “Then come tie me down and fuck me, Cas.”

It’s all the encouragement Cas needs. He tugs the bedside drawer open and pulls out the wrist cuffs. It only takes a moment to fasten them, though he pauses to drag his tongue lazily down the sensitive skin of Dean’s forearms before clipping the carabiners in place. He steps back and watches as Dean gives a few experimental tugs on the ropes though he only has a few inches of slack. “They’re not pinching you?” he asks, voice thick. Seeing Dean like this, spread out like a banquet for him to feast on, makes him uncomfortably hard, but he resists stripping out of his jeans.

Dean shakes his head. “Nah. Feels weird, but it doesn’t hurt or anything.”

Cas pulls the blindfold out and holds it up, watching Dean’s eyes widen. “Can I put this on you?”

“That’s kind of freaky,” Dean teases.

Cas rolls his eyes. “You’re tied naked to my bed, Dean. I think we’ve bypassed freaky.”

Dean chuckles. “Go for it, just, I don’t know how I’m gonna respond to not being able to see. If I don’t like it or I freak out or something, you’ll take it off?”

Cas leans in and presses his lips gently against Dean’s. He keeps the kiss chaste for a moment, just the brush of their mouths together before he deepens it, tongue pushing into Dean’s mouth to thrust shamelessly. They’re both panting slightly when he pulls away. “I will never do anything you don’t want, Dean. If you want me to stop, anything you want, you only have to tell me.”

Dean nods again and lifts his head up so that Cas can fasten the blindfold in place. He turns his head back and forth a few times to make sure it won’t slip, then smiles. “Okay, man, I’m all trussed up. Have your freaky way with me.” He thrusts his hips up, making his hard dick slap against his stomach.

Cas bites back a smile. He selects a few more toys from the drawer and lays them next to Dean’s leg before crawling onto the bed. He pushes Dean’s legs apart, settling himself on his knees between the other man’s thighs. The movement bares Dean to his gaze and Cas drinks in the sight of him. Cock hard and weeping against his stomach, balls hanging heavy between his legs just above the pale pink pucker. Cas bites his lower lip and presses his palm to his straining erection, still trapped behind the zipper of his pants.

“You gonna do somethin’, or you just plannin’ to look for a while?”

Cas leans in and nips sharply at Dean’s thigh, making the other man jump. “Do you want me to gag you too?”

Dean chuckles. “I plan to need my mouth later, so if you want me to be quiet, just say so.”

“Be quiet.”

Dean’s mouth curves up into a smirk, but he doesn’t speak again. Not even when Cas leans down and licks a wet stripe up from his balls to the head of his cock before sucking gently on the underside. He bucks his hips weakly, but Cas presses one arm across his stomach to hold him in place before swallowing him down completely.

It’s like nirvana, the salty, slightly bitter taste of Dean on his tongue, the comforting weight of him in Cas’ mouth, sucking him down until Cas can feel the head nudging against the back of his throat. He swallows, making Dean twitch, then hums a prolonged chuckle as he pulls back up, letting Dean slip out of his mouth.

“Holy fuck, baby,” Dean barks. “So fucking good.”

The words skate across Cas’ senses, dick throbbing almost painfully, so he doesn’t remind Dean that he told him to be quiet. He picks up one of the toys, the jagged metal pinwheel, and spins the head with his fingers. He hovers over Dean’s inner thigh. “This may feel weird,” he says, voice coming out as a hoarse rasp. “If it hurts or you don’t like it, tell me.”

When Dean nods his assent, Cas gently runs the spines of the pinwheel up the inside of Dean’s thigh, starting at the back of his knee and ending a few inches from his groin. The low, desperate groan is enough of an answer to whether or not Dean likes it. He arches into the sensations when Cas runs it down the other leg, thigh muscles twitching. Dean’s jaw clenches and unclenches and he thrusts up against nothing, the muscles of his abdomen working.

Cas licks his lips and brings the pinwheel down again, this time right next to Dean’s cock, where the thick thatch of hair starts below his belly button. Dean tenses then relaxes as he runs the pinwheel up his stomach and in a slow circle just skimming the outer edge of his nipple.

“Oh, fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes with a ragged moan. “I don’t know what the hell that is, but it’s like my skin is on fire and every flame is going straight to my dick.”

The pressure of Cas’ zipper holding back his erection has gone beyond uncomfortable to painful, so he climbs off the bed to strip out of his jeans.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Dean gasps. “Don’t leave me here like this.”

Cas lays one hand reassuringly on Dean’s thigh. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m just getting undressed. You seem to be a step ahead of me here.” He palms lazily at Dean’s cock as he finishes stripping out of his clothes, then looks down at the other two toys on the bed, a slim, curved vibrator and a thick, veined dildo. He’d planned to tease Dean, make him beg for it, but he’s not sure he can hold out long enough.

He trails his fingers up his cock, squeezing gently, and he feels the coil of his impending orgasm low in his gut. If he doesn’t get on with this, he may not last long enough for the main event. Just having Dean in his control, spread out beneath him for his pleasure is enough to push him over the edge.

Rather than reaching for the vibrator as planned, he picks up a condom and the lube from the nightstand before crawling back between Dean’s legs. Dean’s whole body goes rigid when Cas opens the lube bottle, the soft snick of the cap like a gunshot in the still room. Unable to stop his hand from shaking, Cas drizzles a bit on his fingers, then pushes Dean’s legs wider apart. “Are you sure, Dean?”

“Cas, I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to scream.”

Cas trails one fingertip gently around the edge of Dean’s hole, then slides slowly inside. “Hmmm,” he teases, “maybe I want to make you scream.” Lost in the hot clench of Dean’s body around his finger, Cas is only vaguely aware that Dean is tugging on the restraints, making the whole bed shake.

He runs his second finger teasingly around the soft pucker, entranced by the way Dean’s body opens for him as he pushes it inside along the first. He pumps them in and out a few times before gently scissoring them open. “Come on, baby, put in another, I need more,” Dean pants, hips grinding to force himself down onto Cas’ fingers.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Cas says shakily, drizzling more lube across the already slick hole where his fingers disappear into Dean before pressing a third finger inside.

Dean lets out a breathy moan, shoving his hips down and holding, forcing Cas’ fingers in as far as he can. “Come on, Cas. Fuck me, please. I need it, need you.”  

Cas rips the condom packet open with his teeth and uses one hand to slick it over his cock, even that little bit of friction bringing out a keening moan. The other hand is still pressing rhythmically inside until he bends his fingers, rubbing the pad of his fingertip against that spot inside that locks Dean up like he was tased. He gently slides his hand free then slicks more lube down his throbbing cock.

He spreads Dean’s legs up and out, then lines himself up, nestling the head of his dick against Dean’s stretched, puffy hole. He’s about to rock forward slowly, when Dean gasps, “No, Cas, wait. Take it off, take it off.” He bends his neck to rub his face against his arm or shoulder, but the restraints are too tight for him to reach.

Cas freezes, like ice water dripping down his back, and reaches for Dean’s wrist.

“No,” Dean practically shouts. “The blindfold, Cas. I wanna see you. I wanna see your eyes when you fuck me.” Cas rips the blindfold off and Dean blinks in the pale light, then smiles up at Cas. “There you are,” he says with a soft smile.

Slowly, inch by inch to allow Dean to adjust, he pushes inside, never looking away from Dean’s eyes. The pressure, the heat, the wet clench of Dean’s body threatens to overtake him, and Dean’s eyes widen minutely with each shallow thrust. He pulls on the restraints, tugging frantically when Cas is finally seated, but Cas just smooths one hand up his chest to soothe him. “So beautiful like this, Dean. All spread out for me. Don’t fight it. Just give it up to me. Let me take care of you.”

Dean whines, a low, keening sound that draws Cas down to press kisses at each corner of his mouth. “I’ve got you, Dean.”

“Then take me, Cas. I wanna feel it the rest of the week. Remind me who I belong to.”

Cas pulls out and rocks back inside, slowly at first, then gradually faster. After the first few thrusts, Dean wraps his legs around Cas’ waist, using the leverage to pull him in harder and faster. Letting go, Cas’ thrusts get rougher until he’s shoving Dean up the bed, centimeter by centimeter, with each wild plunge inside. He feels the white heat creeping up and he wants desperately to give in to it.

Dean tugs at the restraints again then surges up as far as he can to capture Cas’ mouth. He breaks free with a shaky moan after one particularly brutal thrust. “Dammit, Cas. I want to come while you’re inside me but I’m gonna need some help here. Don’t leave me hangin’.

Smooth thrusts turn jerky as Cas reaches one lube-slick hand up to begin jacking Dean roughly. He holds on by a thread, putting off his encroaching orgasm until, finally, Dean’s back bows under him and he comes with a hoarse shout over Cas’ hand, puddling in thick ropes on his stomach and chest. Cas only holds on for another couple thrusts before the pleasure crests, carrying him over the edge to empty himself into Dean’s heat.

Cas collapses forward, panting roughly, to land half on Dean. He’s not sure how long it is, minutes or hours later, when Dean starts to shift under him.  He raises his head to look at Dean with a soft smile. “Dude,” Dean says groggily. “Unfasten me.”

As soon as the buckles on the restraints are undone, Dean wraps both arms around him, the pressure a welcome weight. Once his breathing slows, he murmurs into Dean’s shoulder, “How did you like it?”

Dean chuckles. “It was weird not bein’ able to touch you, but it’s like it made the whole thing more intense. Like I couldn’t do anything but lay there and let it happen. It was fucking awesome.”

Cas lets his lips curl up into a pleased smile and presses a kiss to Dean’s shoulder. They lay there a while longer until Cas finally pushes himself up to slip into the bathroom for a washcloth. When he returns, Dean is pushing the drawer on the nightstand closed. “I packed everything back up,” he says, accepting the washcloth and wiping himself down.

Too wiped out to argue, Cas lets Dean bundle him into bed and cuddles against him. Soft, barely-there whispers of breath are the only sounds in the room. He tilts his head to the side to press a tender kiss to Dean’s neck, whispering softly, “I love you, Dean Winchester.”

He doesn’t hear a response, but he wasn’t really expecting to. Though there’s a little jolt of pain each time he says it and doesn’t hear it back, he’s accepting that Dean’s actions are worth a lot more than his words. He lets the easy sound of Dean’s breathing lull him to sleep.

His head is still nestled against Dean’s chest when a loud yelp startles him awake. Dean is already extricating himself from Cas’ arms before Cas even processes what is happening. Reaching into the top drawer of the dresser, he pulls out two pairs of lounge pants. He throws one to Cas and tugs the other pair on before striding over to the door. Cas only has a moment to yank the pants up over his hips before Dean flips the lock and opens the door to a sobbing Ben.

“I didn’t know where you was, daddy,” Ben wails through a series of choppy hiccups. Dean clutches the small boy to his chest, rocking him gently and running a soothing hand down his back. After a few minutes, Ben’s cries stop and he rests bonelessly in Dean’s arms, Benson clutched between them.

Dean carries him to the bed and sits down with Ben in his lap. “Is it too scary being that far away, bug?”

Now that he’s calm, Cas can see Ben thinking about the question. “No, daddy. It’s not too scary. I just couldn’t remember where I was. But I’m okay now.”

“Would you like a drink of water, Ben? Then your father can take you back downstairs and tuck you in again?” Cas offers.

Ben nods. He’s still curled into Dean’s chest, but Cas is glad to have something to offer. While he lets the water run to allow it to get cold, he hears Ben and Dean moving around the room. Ben laughs softly at something Dean says, but Cas doesn’t catch the words. He fills a small glass and walks back out to the bedroom.

Dean is bent over his duffle bag, digging through the clothes for something, but Ben is standing beside the bed studying something on the floor with a confused expression. Cas steps forward with the water just as Dean turns back from the bag holding one of his old t-shirts.  Ben turns and bends down. He picks something up, but with his back to Cas, he can’t tell what it is. He hopes it isn’t the condom wrapper.

“Here you go, Ben,” Cas says, holding out the water. Ben turns and Cas sees what he is holding at the exact same moment Dean does if Dean’s gasp is any indicator.

Nestled in Ben’s hand is the long, thickly veined dildo that Cas intended to use on Dean. It looks obscene in Ben’s tiny hand, the silicone a dull purple against Ben’s pale skin. Cas stops, unable to make himself step closer, eyes darting up to Dean. Any words he might offer are caught in his throat, a burning embarrassment keeping them right where they are.

Dean makes a strangled sound halfway between a mortified groan and whimper and lunges forward to grab the toy out of Ben’s hands before stuffing it in the bedside table and slamming the drawer with a thud. “Get your drink from Cas and let’s go to bed,” Dean says, clearly attempting to ignore the whole incident.

There’s a moment of hesitation, but then Ben turns to accept the water glass. He takes a small sip and Cas lets out a relieved sigh as he meets Dean’s eyes. Crisis averted.

Dean and Ben are halfway to the door when Ben looks up at his father and asks innocently, “Daddy? What was that?”

Dean freezes, his eyes going almost comically wide, as they dart over to Cas. “Uh,” he says stupidly.

Cas forces back a strangled laugh.

“It feels weird and slippy, like somebody got grease on it.”

“Uh,” Dean says again.

Cas has to turn away to keep from laughing. He feels a little childish finding humor in Dean’s discomfort, but they certainly aren’t having the best luck when with come to Ben and sex.

Finally, Dean presses one hand against Ben’s back to usher him from the room. Before they reach the top step, Cas hears Dean say, “It’s a dog toy. Juliet must have been playing in Cas’ room.”  He doesn’t catch Ben’s response but he doesn’t really need to.

Cas holds back his laughter until they round the corner at the bottom of the stairs, then lets go. By the time Dean returns upstairs from tucking Ben in again, Cas is still chuckling and Dean is still flushed. “Can it, Cas,” he snaps, but there’s no heat behind his words. They stare at each other for a moment before they both bust out laughing again.

Still chuckling, Dean pulls back the covers and crawls into bed. “I can’t believe that happened, man. What are the fucking chances? Poor kid is going to be scarred by the time we get through with him.”

Cas rolls his eyes and chuckles. He is about to follow Dean into bed when a soft chirping from his phone tells him he has an incoming call. Given that it’s almost midnight, he’s not sure who could be calling this late. He looks down at the screen before answering it, shocked to see Kali’s name on the caller ID.

“Cas, thank god,” Kali breathes as soon as he answers. Her normally smokey voice sounds strained, as if she’s been crying. Cold fear shoots through him

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He looks up at Dean, who is gesturing confusedly, but Cas just holds up a hand to hold him off.

“Gabe would have called, but he can’t, he just, I’m so sorry, Cas.”

The fear grows at Kali’s babbling. Kali never babbles. She’s perfectly in control of herself even in the worst situations. “What is it, Kali? Is Gabe okay?” His voice is shaking. Dean crawls off the bed and pads over to where he’s standing.

“It’s your mother, Cas. There’s been an accident.” The fear is replaced by a sudden stark realization that he knows exactly what she’s about to say. “I’m so sorry, Cas. She passed away a few minutes ago.”

He crumples under the shock of grief that rockets through him. Kali is still talking, but the words sound distant, like they’re separated by a pane of glass. The only thing that registers past the pain is Dean’s arms, pressing him close and holding on tight.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough one, so it's not quite as long. 
> 
> Warnings for grief and mild self-harm (not cutting).

Flying sucks. There aren’t many people in the world Dean would get on a plane for, but the man sitting pale and silent next to him is one of them. He squeezes Cas’ fingers gently, telling himself that he’s not worried when Cas doesn’t squeeze back.

Though it has been less than twelve hours since Cas got the call about his mother, the intervening time has taught Dean several things. First, his family is awesome.  Ellen and Bobby were at Cas’ house before Ben even woke up, ready to pack him off to their place for as long as he needed. Ben took the cancellation of their trip to the museum better than Dean expected until he remembered that Ben is very familiar with Cas’ loss.

Second, there is no quick way to get from Lawrence to Pontiac. As much as Dean didn’t want to fly, he didn’t think Cas could handle a seven-hour car ride. After talking to Kali last night, Cas wanted to book a flight immediately, but Kali thankfully talked him out of it. Dean forced Cas into bed though he’s not sure the other man got even a few minutes of sleep. By the time Dean woke up, Gabe had already booked a flight into Chicago.

The final and most frustrating thing Dean realized today is that he doesn’t like being sidelined. A quickly resolved but very infuriating argument occurred when Dean assumed that he would be going to Pontiac with Cas. Only Cas’ pinched, desperate look kept Dean from becoming angrier than he did. Luckily, the whole disagreement was settled with nothing more than a huff from Cas when they realized that Gabe had booked two tickets on the flight.

Although he hadn’t wanted to, Dean left Cas alone while he ran home to pack. He worried the entire time that Cas would do something stupid, like sneaking away to Pontiac without him, so he was glad when Meg texted him to say she was driving them to the airport. Cas was withdrawn and drained in the back seat during the drive, so Dean sat quietly next to Meg and stole little glances at Cas in the mirror.

If just the thought of being strapped into a flying tin can isn’t bad enough, the way Cas curls into himself in the seat next to him makes the entire thing a hundred times worse. He doesn’t pull away when Dean clasps his hand and he kisses back when Dean presses their lips together, but it is superficial at best. He seems like he is a million miles away, trapped inside a solid block of ice that Dean can’t even begin to chip through. It is only Meg’s reassurance when she drops them off at the gate that she will meet them in Pontiac this evening that keeps Dean from panicking. It’s a sad day when Meg Masters is Dean’s lifeline.

The hand Dean holds now, in the backseat of Gabe’s rental car, is cold and limp. Cas allows him to slide an arm around his shoulders and tug him closer, even going so far as to lay his head on Dean’s shoulder. The tight vice that has been squeezing Dean’s chest loosens a little when Cas snuffles and turns his head to press soft lips to the side of Dean’s neck.

Gabriel seems to be handling things a little better than Cas, but even his normal gregariousness is lessened. He hasn’t called Cas or Dean a nickname or waggled his brows a single time since they got off the plane and that’s definitely something that Dean never thought he’d miss.  No one mentions that Gabe’s eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot.

Other than murmuring softly in Cas’ ear while she hugged him, Kali hasn’t really spoken. She acknowledged Dean with a wry twitch of her perfectly groomed eyebrow and Dean remembers all too well the last time they spoke. She’d just about taken his head off in the kitchen at Christmas and it doesn’t seem like her opinion of him has changed a whole lot. Although she doesn’t say anything, he catches her watching them in the mirror behind the sun visor several times during the drive.

Dean has always known that Cas’ family is rich, but until they pull up in front of the massive stone mansion, he hasn’t really grasped how well off they are. The three-story brick façade is perfectly landscaped with a circular drive and fountain. Two more cars, a Mercedes and a BMW, are parked in a small lot off to the side of the main house, but Gabe pulls the whole way around the house and parks in front of an expansive three car garage.

“Cas, babe, we’re here,” Dean murmurs, squeezing Cas’ shoulders gently.

Cas looks up, eyes taking in the back of the house and the gardens that lie beyond the walkway before he clenches his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. Dean swallows hard, the pressure in his chest ramping up again. He’s never seen Cas like this. Cas is always so perfectly controlled and in charge of every situation. Whether he’s dealing with Ben or with Dean’s shit, he always knows exactly what to say to diffuse the situation. It figures that when it comes time for Dean to do that for him, he doesn’t even know where to begin.

Dean pushes the passenger side door open and climbs out, wrapping his fingers through Cas’ and drawing him out after. Gabe pops the trunk and he and Kali begin pulling out their luggage. Dean threads one arm around Cas’ waist and takes his bag from Kali, who just watches him steadily.

“Zachariah and Bartholomew are here,” Gabe says, and there’s a tone in his voice that suggests this is information Cas might not like.

Cas frowns and rolls his eyes. “Wonderful,” he croaks, his voice raspy with disuse. He has barely spoken two dozen words in the last few hours and it is seriously starting to scare Dean. Cas closes his eyes again and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean raises both eyebrows pointedly in Gabe’s direction and Gabe frowns. It’s such an unusual expression for Gabe that it rachets Dean’s anxiety up a little farther.

“Pretty sure they’re probably hanging out in the old man’s study. Why don’t you and Kali head up the back stairs and get settled? Dean and I will bring the stuff in,” Gabe offers, sending Kali a look that Dean is sure says way more than his words do.

She nods and presses a hand to Cas’ arm. “Come on, Castiel,” she directs. “You look exhausted. We’ll go up and you can lie down for a while.”

Cas looks up at Dean, who just nods supportively. “Go ahead, babe,” Dean encourages. “You barely slept last night and you’re gonna need your strength for this. We got it.”

Cas leans in and presses a soft kiss to Dean’s cheek, just in front of his ear. It’s the first physical contact that Cas has initiated all day and something loosens in Dean’s chest. “Thank you,” he murmurs before pulling away to follow Kali into the house.

Dean rounds on Gabe. “Who now?” he barks, sure that Gabe will understand exactly what he means.

“Uncle Zachariah, our mother’s only living sibling, and his son Bartholomew. If Cas has told you anything about our father, multiply it by a hundred and you’ve got old Zach. He’s a real piece of work. He’s been on mom for years to cut Cassie out of her will.”

White hot anger flashes through Dean. “What the fuck? Because he’s gay?”

Gabe shrugs. “I’m sure that’s part of it, but it started back when the old man was alive. The chem company is an old family business, our grandfather founded it, and Zach is some kind of upper management. He’s the one who introduced dad to mom. I’ve always been convinced that there was some kind of shady dealing; like mom was a perk of the job or something. When Cas pulled that stunt in college with his art degree, I think Zachariah was more pissed off than dad was.”

“You realize how crazy that sounds, right? Like Cas working for the company was some kind of conspiracy or something.”

Gabe shrugs. “Be that as it may, Zachariah is a grade-A douchenozzle and his kid is a chip off the ol’ feminine hygiene product. Now that mom isn’t around to keep him in line, don’t be surprised if he goes after Cas. They haven’t been in the same room together since the old man’s funeral and even that got a little ugly. Cas wasn’t doin’ so hot back then and Zachariah made sure to twist him up.”

Dean narrows his eyes and growls, “If he does anything to hurt Cas—”

“I know, I know,” Gabe cuts him off, holding up both hands. “Lawyer here, don’t need the details in case I end up defending you. Just help me and Kali run interference and if it comes to that, try not to get any blood on the carpet in the living room. It’s imported from Italy and it would be a bitch to have cleaned.” He closes the trunk and leads Dean into the house.

Cas is curled on his side on top of the blankets in the dimly lit room Gabe takes Dean to. He stacks the luggage inside the door and waves Gabe away with silent thanks, then climbs onto the bed next him. Not sure where Cas is on the whole physical touching spectrum, he lays quietly, listening to Cas’ breathing until the other man opens his eyes and looks at him. “Hey,” he says softly, nudging his hand closer on the bed.

The smile Cas gives him is a slight, shaky thing that is nothing like the smiles Dean is used to seeing. It breaks his heart. “Hey,” Cas responds. He reaches out and puts his hand in Dean’s, then responds to Dean’s slight tug by rolling over so that his head is pillowed on Dean’s chest.

“You doin’ okay?”

Cas shrugs and Dean feels it more than sees it. “Numb, I guess. It just seems crazy. I just saw her a few weeks ago and she was fine, practically running up and down the stairs. I thought we had time.” His voice hitches on the last word and he rolls to press his face into Dean’s chest.

Dean cards his hand gently through Cas’ hair, the dark strands like silk against his fingers. “It was an accident, Cas. Slipping like that, hitting her head, it could happen to anyone.”

Cas nods jerkily. One hand creeps across Dean’s chest until Dean reaches down to wind their fingers together. His other hand continues its petting, fingers pressing lightly to rub at Cas’ temple and the sensitive spot behind his ear. Cas takes in a deep breath and Dean thinks he’s about to say something else, but he just blows out so it ghosts across Dean’s cheek.

After a few moments, Cas’ eyes slip shut again and his breathing evens out. Dean can’t begin to imagine how exhausted he is. The fatigue is heavy in Dean’s limbs and he doesn’t have nearly the emotional burden that Cas is carrying right now. Shifting slightly to make himself comfortable, he lets Cas sleep.

Despite the way loss has shaped his own life, between Mary and Lisa, other people’s grief is kind of unfamiliar territory for Dean. Ash, pale and shaking on the ground of the junkyard, comes to mind. Dean closes his eyes against the memory, but it seems to make the image even clearer.

It took John almost a full day to pack the car and drive them back to Lawrence after they got the word about Bill Harvelle. By the time they arrived, no one even knew where Ash had slipped off to. Dean knew. It didn’t take him long to find the other boy curled up on the ground next to the old Cadillac in the back corner of the lot. Just four months previous, Dean had gotten his first blowjob from Ash in the backseat of that car.

Unlike Cas, Ash was anything but quiet. He alternated between raging, punching the side of a car so hard that Dean was sure he broke something, and sobbing in Dean's arms. Where Cas is pale and withdrawn, Ash was angry, lashing out violently at anyone who tried to speak to him. He was so out of control at the funeral that Dean had dragged him away and shoved him into the backseat of the Impala before he could do any permanent damage.

At first, Dean was sure that Ash was going to punch him, so he was more than a little shocked when Ash kissed him instead. Ash was like a whirlwind and within five minutes, Dean was half naked against the leather with his cock buried in Ash’s ass for the first time. He’s still not entirely sure how that happened. Looking back, it’s no wonder sex and Ash and intense emotion have been wrapped up together for so long.

There’s a movement in the hallway, and then the door creaks open and Kali sticks her head around the corner. Dean looks up, watching her watch them for a moment before he gently slips out of Cas’ embrace. He waits until he’s sure that Cas is still asleep before he pads over to the door. He steps out into the hallway and pushes the door closed gently behind him, before turning to Kali with a look of uncertainty.

“I wasn’t sure if you would be sleeping.”

Dean shrugs. “I caught some shut-eye last night, but I don’t think he did. I’m fine.”

Kali looks at him appraisingly, as if she’s trying to decide something, then nods. “I thought you might like to take a walk with me in the gardens.”

Since walking in the gardens is pretty much the opposite of something Dean would ever be interested in, he assumes that means that Kali wants to talk to him somewhere away from the house. He nods his consent and follows her down the stairs.

The gardens are actually a lot more interesting than Dean expected. There are tiny creek-beds, fountains, ponds, and a putting green interspersed amongst the flowers. They walk in silence for a while, with Kali pointing out interesting structures occasionally, until they are a decent distance from the house.

“I don’t hate you.”

Dean stops, looking out over a small pond covered in lily pads. He glances at Kali out of the corner of his eye. “Good to know.”

She smiles and huffs a small laugh. “I am very protective of Castiel. Despite all this,” she waves her hands around, “he has not had an easy life. When it seemed that you were playing with his feelings at Christmas time, I was enraged.”

Dean turns to her. “I get it. Christmas was kind of screwed up. I just, I would never do anything to intentionally hurt Cas. He’s become really important to me.”

“I’ve seen today the way you are with him; the way you care for him. He needs that in his life. He gives so much to other people that it is not easy to see that he needs to be taken care of too.”

Dean swallows hard. “I want to be that person for him.”

Kali nods. “I think you are a good person for the job. I needed you to know that there are no lingering bad feelings between us from the past.”

“None,” Dean responds sincerely. “We both care about him. If I do anything that hurts him, even if it’s just because I can be stupid sometimes, you have permission to kick my ass.”

Kali smiles and holds out a slender hand for him to shake. “Agreed.”

She turns back toward the house, and Dean falls in step beside her. “What’s the plan to deal with Douche One and Douche Two?”

Kali huffs a laugh and looks at him appreciatively, then her lips twist into a frown. “Keep them away from Castiel as much as possible and provide support when they must be in the same room.” She thinks for a moment, then adds, “And keep Meg from hitting either of them. My understanding is that it is only because Gabriel is a lawyer that charges weren’t pressed after Theodore’s funeral.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, what? Meg hit Zachariah?”

“The son, actually. Broke his nose, from what I have been told. Not that he didn’t deserve it. He stated in front of everyone that Castiel was responsible for his father’s death, as his choices led to his father’s heart attack. Of course, according to Gabriel, he didn’t say it in such polite terms.” She spits out something that Dean is fairly certain is a Hindi curse word.

“Asshole,” Dean adds in agreement. “Okay, so what you’re telling me is that if I need someone to help me get rid of the bodies, Meg is the person I should talk to?”

Kali bites back a laugh. “My lawyer will instruct me to say this conversation never happened.”

* * *

* * *

His left arm is asleep where it’s pinned under Dean’s shoulder. At least the prickly feeling when he tries to move it gives him something to focus on that isn’t the overwhelming numbness of the last two days. He lies still, focusing on Dean’s even breathing as a kind of meditation to keep him from thinking about today.

It seems so strange to be in this house, with the familiar smells and sounds, the same ceiling and walls he has stared at a thousand times, and know that his mother isn't just down the hallway. It’s unbelievable that he won’t walk down the stairs to breakfast and find her sitting in the dining room, nursing her second cup of coffee for the day even though the doctor told her to cut back on caffeine.

He drags in another deep breath. At seventy-two, it’s not like Cas didn’t know that his mother was getting older, that he would lose her one day soon. He just didn’t think it would be this early or this suddenly. She was healthy and in good spirits at Easter, talking about jetting off to Florida to visit cousins in a few weeks.

It seems almost ludicris that such a dynamic woman could be brought down by slipping in the bathroom. She was still alive when the maid found her less than an hour later and called the ambulance, but she never regained consciousness. According to Kali, she had already passed by the time they called Gabe. 

Cas wiggles his arm slowly out from under Dean and slips into the bathroom. He’s glad that Dean insisted he come, even though he was shocked when Dean offered. Between taking care of Ben and holding Cas’ hand, Dean being with his son seemed like the obvious answer. Dean apparently had other ideas and Gabe had taken the decision out of Cas’ hands when he booked the tickets. He should remember to thank Gabe for that later.

He turns on the water in the shower as hot as he can stand it and strips down before stepping under the spray. The heat prickles his skin uncomfortably, but he makes no move to turn it down. Feeling something is better than the emptiness that has sat under his ribcage since he got the call from Kali.

He hasn’t cried. That’s not right, or at least it doesn’t feel right. He should be feeling something other than hollowness. It should hurt, rip his heart out, and make him sob. Instead, there’s just desolation, like he can’t feel anything at all.

He tips his head back, letting the steaming water run over his face and sting his eyes. It hurts, but he doesn’t step away. Instead, he just shifts back and raises his arm in front of him, breathing in the steam and watching how his skin turns red.

A noise outside the shower startles him and he jerks around to find Dean wide-eyed and staring at him through the clear glass door, steam making his expression hazy. He jerks the shower door open and yanks Cas back out of the spray. “Are you crazy?” he yelps, his voice frightened. “You’re gonna burn yourself. Your back looks like it’s gonna start blistering soon.”

Cas shakes his head, whether to clear it or as an answer, he’s not sure. “I’m cold,” he says, and it’s clear from Dean’s expression that it doesn’t make any sense.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just reaches into the shower and turns the water temperature down a bit. He yanks his clothes off and steps into the stall, gathering Cas against him. Dean is shaking. Wait, no, Cas is shaking. How didn’t he notice that?

Dean steps back, pulling him under the water again. Although it’s not burning him anymore, he feels warm everywhere Dean touches. This is better, so much better. He tries to smile against Dean’s chest, but the muscles in his face won’t cooperate, so he just sighs and lets Dean hold him.

He doesn’t argue when Dean washes his hair or runs the washcloth over his body, though part of him feels ridiculous, like a child. Dean spends enough time taking care of Ben, he shouldn’t have to take care of Cas too. He’s so tired, though, that he doesn’t have the energy to fight. He waits while Dean washes his own hair and body, then obediently steps into the towel that Dean holds out, letting the warmth cocoon him.

Meg is sitting in the dining room, half of a bagel and a cup of coffee in front of her when Dean pulls him down the stairs. “I chased Barty boy and his daddy out a bit ago. My feelings are a little hurt. It didn’t seem like they were real happy to see me,” she says with a nonchalant shrug.

Dean laughs softly, pulling up a chair next to her, but Cas just stares blandly. He’s not stupid enough to think that Zachariah is right about him causing his father’s heart attack, but it does feel a little like he’s being punished. The last time he’d been in this room, he’d walked away from his mother mid-sentence, absolutely furious with her. 

He had made a comment during breakfast about bringing Dean and Ben to visit so that his mother could get to know them and she’d asked why it was worth the bother. She went on to say that she would just wait until Castiel settled down with a nice girl. She’ll never get a chance to see how amazing Dean is, to see that Ben could be the grandchild she always wanted. All because Dean is a man and his mother was too blind to see what has been right in front of her face for the last twenty years.

Cas sighs and sits down at the end of the table, four chairs away from where Dean and Meg are sitting. He’s not so out of it that he doesn’t see the look they exchange. “You shouldn’t cause trouble with them,” he says softly. Dean puts a bagel on a plate and pushes it in front of him, but Cas just glances at it and looks away.

Meg shrugs with a scoff. “They’re both dickbags, Clarence.” Dean glances at her with a small smile.

“My mother was his sister. He’s in mourning.” The words feel wrong in his mouth, but he says them anyway.

Meg rolls her eyes but she doesn’t respond. Cas is glad because he isn’t sure what else he would say.

Meg and Dean eat in silence while Cas stares out the window at the flaming azalea blooming in the garden. The bright red flowers had been one of his mother’s favorites. He doesn’t react when Dean sets a mug of tea in front of him.

“Gabe asked if we wanted to take a separate car since we all won’t fit in the rental,” Meg shares. Cas looks up, but she’s looking at Dean instead of him.

Dean shrugs. “Sure. There’s another option?”

“Mother owns a Tahoe, though only the butler drives it,” Cas responds.

Dean and Meg share another look that Cas is too exhausted to try to decipher. He knows that he’s not right, he can feel that. He can tell that he’s not processing clearly, but all he can think about is the look on his mother’s face when he told her that there would never be a nice girl for him to settle down with, that the thought of touching a woman makes him sick to the stomach. She looked at him like he had slapped her.

“I can drive us. I assume you’re going with us and not Gabe?”

Cas looks up but again, Dean isn’t talking to him. He looks away before Meg answers.

“Hell yes, I’m not getting stuck in the car with the midget. It’s already bad enough that I can’t drink today. Any additional frustration and I might break Zachy’s nose this time.”

Cas stands up, leaving the undisturbed bagel and tea on the table.

“You okay?” Dean asks, his voice laced with concern. Cas hates being the one making Dean sound like that.

“I’m going to get dressed for the funeral,” Cas says, walking toward the door. Walking hurts, like the bottoms of his feet are blistered. Walking shouldn’t hurt, but he’s not really sure why it does.

“We don’t have to leave for another two hours.”

“I’ll just take a walk for a while,” Cas counters.

There’s a little pinch between Dean’s brow when Cas looks at him. “Want some company?”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m fine, Dean. Finish your breakfast. I’m just going to walk out to the lake and back.”

He walks toward the French doors at the back of sunroom and when he glances back, Dean has leaned in and is murmuring something to Meg. He hears the word ‘shower’ and he’s sure that Dean is telling her what happened earlier. He slips out before he can hear Meg’s response.

Walking through his mother’s gardens doesn’t make him feel any better. He remembers when he bought her the blue rose bush for her birthday. Even though they had a gardener, she and Cas planted it themselves, right next to a tall concrete statue of an angel. He painted that angel once, the roses spread out around it, but his father had thrown it out after he got an A- on a science quiz in eleventh grade. He never found the time to paint it again.

He wonders what the funeral will be like. Dozens of people, he’s sure, most of whom he won’t even know. They’ll want to shake his hand he realizes with a shudder. They’ll want to touch him and offer their condolences. Some might even hug him. If there was anything in his stomach, he’d probably vomit at the thought.

There’s a little stream at the back of the property that feeds into the lake. Cas stops along the edge, toe digging at a smooth rock until it topples into the water. He wonders what will happen to the house now. Although he certainly can’t say that every memory has been a happy one, this place holds his entire childhood. Will they sell it? Constance and Jason, the house staff, will have to find new jobs. Cas wonders what they will do. They’ve been with the family since Cas was in high school.

He turns back toward the house with a sigh. He wonders again why he isn’t crying. He should be crying. That’s what people do when they’re sad. He _is_ sad, right? His mother is dead and his father is dead and he’s an orphan. He and Gabriel are both orphans now. That should make him cry. He raises one hand and rubs at his dry eyes.

The rental car is still parked at the back of the house and the door of the garage bay where the Tahoe is parked is open. He slips in the back door and up the service stairs so that he doesn’t run into Zachariah or Bartholomew. If you enter the house through the kitchen, you’re almost sure not to see them, as neither would ever lower themselves to go somewhere they think of as the servants’ domain.

Dean isn’t in the bedroom when he opens the door and he closes it behind himself with a small sigh of relief. He needs Dean so much. He just wants to wrap Dean around himself like a shield against what he knows is going to be an excruciating afternoon, but he doesn’t want to be a burden to Dean. He hates the way Dean has been looking at him, like he’s worried that Cas can’t take of himself.

He’s been taking care of himself for years. He made sure Michael knew that he could take care of himself and Michael went away. Maybe that’s what Dean wants, to take care of him. It’s so scary, though, to depend on someone else. If they take care of you, they can tell you what to do.

He remembers his mother standing up to his father when he found out that Cas had changed his major, when he brought Michael home and told them he was gay. The fight was horrible, but his mother had raised her voice to his father the only time he ever remembers in his life. Even if she didn’t always understand him or agree with him, his mother loved him. Cas reaches up and rubs his dry eyes again.

He glances at the clock and sees that they have just under an hour before they need to leave for the funeral home. There might be time for another shower. He hadn’t meant to hurt himself this morning, not really. The hollow feeling in his chest won’t go away. He just wanted to fill it up with something, something that he could feel.

Instead of showering, he lays down on the bed and curls up with the pillow over his head. He’s quiet, listening to his breathing until Dean comes in and tells him to get dressed. He gets up and puts on his black suit, gray shirt, dark blue tie. Dean is dressed almost identically, but his tie is gray, with a white shirt.

“People are going to want to touch me,” Cas says, glad that his voice doesn’t have the waver it has had all day. Dean looks up immediately from where he’s straightening his tie in the mirror and his expression softens. Cas is glad that he understands.

“I’ll be right there, babe. If you need a break, we’ll hide out in the bathroom or something. Just give me the sign.”

Cas nods and lets Dean pull him in for a kiss. They’re standing in the house of a woman who didn’t think Dean was important and Cas kisses him anyway. It feels a little like a betrayal.

Meg is wearing a black dress when she slides into the back seat of the Tahoe. Gabe and Kali are already in the rental car, waiting for them to get ready to follow. She reaches up and squeezes his shoulder. “You’re gonna make it through this, Clarence,” she says, and her voice isn’t as strong as it usually is. It doesn’t make Cas feel any better.

The funeral is just as brutal as Cas expected it to be. Neither Meg nor Dean cry, but Kali is sobbing into Gabe’s shoulder and his brother is dabbing his face with a handkerchief. Cas is glad that he wasn’t asked to say anything during the service, but the way his uncle extols his mother’s virtues makes it sound like she was much more pious than she actually was. It makes him sick. His mother didn’t hate him because he’s gay, she just didn’t understand him. He thinks of Ben and how much she would have loved him if she’d given him and Dean a chance. He reaches up and rubs his dry eyes. He wonders why he keeps expecting tears.

Several people, including a few distant cousins and women from his mother’s book club, clasp his hands and hug him while they’re filing out of the church. Dean stands at his side, one hand on his elbow as if he’s ready to spirit Cas away the moment it looks like he needs it. Cas takes a shaky breath and stands his ground, even though he appreciates the sentiment.

They drive to the cemetery, a long serpentine train of cars with flags advertising his grief to the passing motorists. Cas closes his eyes so that he can’t see the fabric banner flicking in the wind on the hood of the Tahoe. He wonders how Gabriel and Kali are holding up in the car in front of them. Their silhouettes through the back glass show that Kali is bent toward Gabriel. Cas looks at the expanse of space between himself and Dean and wonders why it seems like such a distance to cross.

Gabriel, Kali, Jason, Zachariah, Bartholomew and himself line up along the back of the hearse and wait for the coffin to be lifted out. Zachariah had protested when Kali announced her intention to be a pallbearer, but he’d withered under her glare. Castiel is relieved to look to his left and see Jason’s tearful face rather than a stranger. Somewhere behind them, Dean is following with the rest of the procession. Cas wants to turn and look for him but he doesn’t.

There’s a hitch in Cas’ chest, a moment when his throat closes as they lower Hester Novak into the ground, when he wonders if he might cry. His eyes burn and even the feel of Dean’s hand on his lower back makes him twitchy. He wants to get away, to run and curl up and hide like he did when he was a child, all the times that his mother found him curled up in the potting shed or under his bed. He knows all about why Ben seeks out small spaces when he’s overwhelmed. Would Dean make a pillow fort with him if he asks? He feels silly even thinking it.

“I’m gonna pull the car around.”

Cas looks up. Dean looks worried again, his green eyes narrowed as his gaze sweeps over Cas’ face. He looks around. People are filing away from the gravesite. It’s over. His mother is dead and she’ll never get to meet Dean. She’ll never hold Ben on her knee and laugh at his antics. She’ll never tell Cas what a beautiful family he has. He reaches up and rubs his dry eyes. He’s beginning to wonder if he will ever cry again.

“Meg and Gabe are talking to the priest. Are you going to be okay while I get the car?” Dean asks.

Cas realizes that he never responded to Dean’s first comment. “Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll wait here.”

Dean squeezes his hand and for a moment, Cas wants to beg him not to let go. He steps away, his fingers slipping out of Cas’ grasp and Cas feels silly for thinking it. Of course, Dean will go. He’ll go get the car and they’ll drive away from here. They’ll leave his mother alone, in the ground, and Cas will cry like he’s supposed to instead of standing like a wooden statue, like this broken thing he has become.

He waits. There’s movement to his left and Cas turns, expecting to see Meg or Gabriel or Kali. If he could feel his heart, he would notice it sink. It’s not Meg or Gabriel or Kali.

Zachariah stares out across the cemetery. “Are you happy with yourself, Castiel?” he says. His voice is low, but Cas flinches just the same.

“There is not a great deal to be happy about today, Zachariah,” Cas responds. He wants to move away, to walk to where Meg and Gabriel are talking to the priest, but his feet feel stuck to the ground. Maybe he will grow roots and stay here with his mother, become the hollow wooden statue he feels like.

“It wasn’t enough that you flaunted that boy in their faces. That you degraded yourself with him and let him drag you from the path your father spent so many years laying for you,” Zachariah hisses. He wraps strong fingers around Cas’ elbow, holding him still even though Cas isn’t entirely sure he could move anyway.

He’d been so in love with Michael, with his charm and his quick wit and his generosity. Although he knew that his parents wouldn’t be thrilled when he came out, he couldn’t imagine that Michael wouldn’t be able to win them over, so Cas had brought him home for Christmas during their senior year. It was during the ensuing fight that the truth about his degree came out.  It was the last Christmas he’d spent at home until after his father died.

“And now,” Zachariah continues, not deterred by Cas’ lack of response, “you have the nerve to bring this man to your mother’s funeral. You threw away everything your parents worked so hard to give you, but that wasn’t enough. You do her this final disrespect by flaunting your perversion in front of everyone when you should be groveling for forgiveness in honor of her memory. You’re a disgrace, Castiel. Your mother would be ashamed.”

Cas’ breath catches in his throat. He wants to argue, to tell his uncle that he’s wrong, that his mother loved him. She may not have understood him, but she loved him. She would never be ashamed of him. He opens his mouth, but his throat works without producing words. Tears prickle behind his eyes, threatening to fall, but he blinks them away. If he can’t cry for his mother’s death, he won’t cry for his uncle’s lies.

Zachariah’s grip on his elbow tightens painfully and the sound a car door slamming startles Cas into looking up. The Tahoe is parked on the road and Dean is rounding the car. He looks angry. Zachariah makes a wet, disgusting sound in his throat and releases Cas’ arm. He turns and walks quickly into the crowd before Dean reaches them.

“Cas,” Dean says. His voice is gruff, but his anger isn’t directed at Cas. He may be out of it, but Cas is aware enough to know that. Dean stares into the crowd after Zachariah with hard eyes. “What did that asshole say to you?”

Cas doesn’t turn and look for his uncle. He doesn’t want to see the gaping hole where his mother lays in the dirt. He just wants to be away from here. He wants Dean to help him move, to make sure that he doesn’t grow roots and stay in this place, alone. “Take me home, Dean,” he says.

Dean takes a deep breath, as if he’s going to argue, but he must see something in Cas’ face that makes him think better of it, because he just blows out the air and nods. He wraps one arm around Cas’ shoulders and bundles him into the passenger seat. They wait for Meg to join them, then Dean starts the car. Even though the distance still feels vast, Cas reaches for Dean’s hand. Dean twists his fingers into Cas’ without comment and Cas doesn’t let go the entire ride back to the house.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some pretty heavy grief on Cas' part. Another tough one to write.
> 
> On a side note, I can't believe this story is now over 200k words!
> 
> Gahhhhhh! My wonderful, amazing friend Mari made me this beautiful video to go with my story! Go check it out! [Destiel - Say Something](https://youtu.be/0shuDeUPRMY)

Sliding behind the wheel of the Impala after a long day of work doesn’t provide the same kind of relief it always does. Dean checks his phone for messages one last time before throwing it onto the seat next to him and starting the car. Cas still hasn’t responded to the text Dean sent at lunch and his responses earlier in the day were all one or two words. Dean knows that Cas is going through a really hard time with his mother’s death, but isolating himself doesn’t seem like it’s the way to go.

There’s still no response by the time Dean pulls up his driveway. He resists the urge to call, or to drive over there and drag Cas out of the house, and heads across the lawn to pick Ben up from Missouri. Giving Cas space is killing him.

Ben’s jacket is on and he’s waiting in the kitchen by the time Dean walks through the back door. Missouri read him the riot act the first couple times he knocked instead of walking in. She assured him with a sly grin that she was too old to be getting up to anything she wouldn’t want him to see.

“How’s your man doin’?” the older woman asks, eyes softening with concern as she hands Dean Ben’s book bag.

Dean frowns and rubs one hand down his face, the other coming up to squeeze the back of his neck. “Well as can be expected, I guess,” he answers wearily. Lying awake worrying about Cas is starting to take a toll on him. “He took all last week off, but he went back to school on Monday. Keepin’ to himself mostly.”

Missouri, astute as always, shakes her head with a soft tsking sound. “Ain’t good to spend too much time alone when he’s grievin’. The mind’s got a way of playin’ games.”

Dean sighs. “I know, but if he won’t talk to me, I don’t know how to help him.”

“Just by bein’ there.”

“He won’t let me be,” Dean huffs in frustration.

“Boy, sometimes what a man says he wants and what he needs are two different things. You, bein’ a man an’ all, should know that. Show him he ain’t alone and that you’re not goin’ anywhere. When he’s ready, he’ll come ‘round.”

Dean thinks about Missouri’s advice as he and Ben walk back to their house. There’s been a low-level ache in his chest ever since Ellen and Ben picked them up from the airport last week. Cas was pale and withdrawn when they dropped him off at his house, barely forcing a smile even for Ben. He wants desperately to help, but he has no idea how.

Dinner only takes a few minutes to heat up because Dean made sure to save leftovers for tonight. They’re always cutting it close between work and Parent Night, so he’s learned to plan for something quick and easy. Ben is carrying the silverware to the table when Dean’s phone goes off.

“Hey, bug, grab that and bring it into the dining room for me?” Dean calls as he carries two bowls of chicken tortilla soup.

Ben slides the phone onto the table next to Dean’s seat before taking his own. “Why is it canceled?”

“What?”

“The message says Parent Night is canceled,” Ben points out, adding a scoop of crunchy tortilla strips to his bowl. Dean takes a moment to be grateful again that Ben isn’t as picky as most kids on the spectrum that he’s read about. He’s not sure he could live on chicken nuggets and buttered noodles.

Dean glances down at the phone to see that Ben is right. The text message is from an unknown number that Dean can only assume is Meg’s. A sharp edge of panic knifes through him. Since he hasn’t heard from Cas since this morning, anything could have happened since then.

“Is Cas okay?” Ben asks, before slurping some soup from his spoon noisily.

“Manners, bug,” Dean chastises absently, eyes still trained on the phone. “I sure hope so. Did you see him at school today?”

“He looked sad this morning, but Miss Masters took us out to the van when it was time to come home.”

Dean tries not to let his concern show on his face. “He’s having a very hard time,” he offers, not sure what else to say.

“He misses his mom.”

Dean glances up at his son and reminds himself to stop underestimating the boy. “He does.”

Ben thinks about that for a moment before sighing softly. “I miss my mom sometimes too. I don’t remember her so much.”

Dean’s throat goes tight with emotion. “Not at all?”

Ben shrugs, twirling his spoon absently in his soup. “Little bits. I smell her hair and when she hugged me watching TV.”

“Those are good things to remember.”  Dean isn’t sure what else to say. Ben was so little, much younger than Dean had been when Mary died and there is so much he doesn’t remember about his mom either, just snippets and snatches of memories, like the way her golden hair glinted in the sunlight when she washed dishes at the sink. “I only remember a little bit about my mom too.”

“I wish I could give Cas a hug. It feels better when you give me a hug when I’m sad.”

Dean reaches out and ruffles Ben’s hair affectionately. “I know, bug. Me too.”

Cleaning up after dinner is easy with only the dishes and no pots or pans to soak. With their whole night freed up, Dean lets Ben talk him into putting on their box set of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_. Dean doesn’t like it as much as the original series but Counselor Troi is kind of a babe, so it isn’t exactly a hardship.

While Ben arranges a nest of blankets on the couch, Dean wanders into his bedroom and pulls out his phone. He stares at it for a few moments, eyes fastened on the blank spot where Cas hasn’t responded to his last text.

With a frustrated sigh, he taps the _call_ button and listens while it rings. Just like the last three times he called, it rings four times then Cas’ gravelly tone instructs him to leave a message. Even though he has no intention to, he listens to the message to the end just to hear Cas’ voice, then hangs up. He pulls the text messaging screen up instead.

_[You] 6:04PM: If you don’t call me back, I’m going to drive over there just to make sure you’re alive._

He waits a moment, staring at the phone and willing it to ring, but the screen remains blank. He tries to tell himself that Cas will be okay, but he’s not entirely sure he buys it. If Cas doesn’t call back by the end of the first episode, he’ll see if Ben can stay with Missouri and drive over.

The Enterprise is passing through a wormhole when Dean’s phone starts to ring. Heart in his throat, he pulls it out of his pocket and sees that it is Cas calling. He pushes himself up from the couch and walks the few feet to the kitchen before answering.

“Hey, man.”

“Hello, Dean.” Cas sounds horrible. His already naturally low voice is even deeper, raspy and grating with disuse. “I’m alive.”

Dean pauses. Now that he has Cas on the phone, he isn’t really sure what to say. It’s pretty obvious that Cas is _not_ okay, but he has no idea what to say to get the other man to let him take care of him. Hearing Cas in so much pain and not being allowed to comfort him is killing Dean. “Did you eat dinner?” he tries.

There’s a long pause that tells Dean all he needs to know. “Of course,” Cas lies.

“I’ll bring you something.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” he insists softly.

“Okay,” Dean says on a long breath. “You’re fine. That’s great, but you gotta eat and I got some leftover soup I’m sick of eating. You’d be doing me a favor if you took it off our hands. Ben will probably mutiny if I make him eat it again tomorrow night.”

“Dean,” Cas says with an exasperated sigh.

“Look. I get it, okay. You gotta go through this, I know, but it sucks. I don’t know why you can’t let me be there for you, but if that’s what you think you need, I’m tryin’ to respect that. Just, come on man, you gotta eat.”

There’s a long moment when there’s just the sound of Cas’ breathing. “I’m not hungry.”

Dean closes his eyes and pictures Cas wasting away. “I know, but that’s why you gotta make yourself eat. Even just a little bit. I don’t want you to get sick too, on top of everything. I’ll bring you some soup.”

Another pause, not as long as the last one. “I’m not really up for visitors.”

Dean wants to snap at him, tell him that Dean isn’t a visitor, he’s Cas’ fucking boyfriend and he’s worried the man is going to fade away to nothing. Everyone’s grief process is different, Dean knows, but he doesn’t know how long he can take being shut out. “You don’t have to see us, Cas. Just let me drop off some food. Please. Just so I know you’re eating something more than the whole lotta nothing you’ve got in your fridge.”

“Fine,” Cas finally relents. He hangs up before Dean acknowledges his surrender.

Ben is a little whiny when Dean tells him to shut the television off, but he quickly perks up when Dean tells him that they are taking food to Cas. “He’s not really feeling well,” he cautions, “so we’re not visiting.”

“Okay, daddy. I bet your soup will make him feel better.”

Dean wishes it was that easy as he slides the container with the rest of the soup into a tote and adds a bag of tortilla strips to the top. He’d gladly feed Cas every day if it would make a difference. It’s the least he can do while Cas finds his way back to them.

Juliet is barking just inside the door when Dean and Ben ring the doorbell. Dean tried to convince Ben to stay in the car, but the boy insisted that he needed to make sure Cas was okay for himself. When the door finally creaks open, Dean isn’t sure it was a good idea.

If Cas sounds horrible, he looks even worse. His hair is matted to his head on one side and sticking straight up on the other, a dark red mark vivid on his cheek where he must have been leaning against something. It stands out against Cas’ pallor, contrasting with the dark black circles under his bloodshot eyes. Even the normal vibrant blue seems dimmed somehow; as if some spark of life has gone out.

The sight of him nearly breaks Dean’s heart. Resisting the urge to pull Cas into a hug and cross whatever boundaries the other man has set up, Dean holds out the handles of the tote bag for him to take. “Thank you, Dean,” he manages. His focus skates away when Dean tries to make eye contact.

“I’ll bring you some more tomorrow.”

Cas presses his lips thin and looks like he’s about to argue until he finally catches Dean’s eyes with a sigh. He must see the stubbornness there, because he just murmurs, “Okay,” with a slight nod.

Dean’s fingers twitch with the need to reach out and hold onto Cas. If Cas needs him to, he’ll walk away without making contact, but he’s really hoping for some small sliver of connection to hold him over. “Can I, ah, give you a hug?” Dean asks awkwardly.

Cas’ eyelids flutter before he squeezes his eyes shut and swallows hard. When he opens them, there’s the faint sheen of tears gathering in the corners. Has he cried at all yet? Dean waits until Cas nods before gingerly wrapping his arms around the other man’s shoulders. He squeezes softly, just enough to telegraph how much Dean misses him, then steps back.

As soon as Dean is out of the way, Ben steps forward and wraps his small arms around Cas’ waist. Cas lets out a choked off sound and brushes one hand lovingly through Ben’s hair before the boy releases him. “I’m sorry you’re sad, Cas,” he says gently. “I hope daddy’s soup helps you feel better.”

Cas nods, throat working. “Thank you, Ben,” he says, the effort needed to force out the words greater than it probably should be.

“You know where I am if you need anything,” Dean says, voice cracking at the end. Cas bites his lower lip and nods before stepping backward and pushing the door shut. Dean hears the deadbolt turn.

It takes every ounce of willpower Dean has to guide Ben back to the car instead of pounding on the door and insisting that Cas let him take care of him. Dean and Ben are both silent on the way home and Ben doesn’t put up a fuss when Dean asks him to take his bath early. He’s not sure if Ben can tell that Dean is at the end of his rope or if he’s worried about Cas, but either way, he’s grateful for the reprieve.

While Ben plays quietly in the tub, Dean pulls his phone back out and scrolls to the text from the unknown number. He feels a little guilty going behind Cas’ back, but his concern for Cas is tearing him apart inside.

_[You] 7:21PM: Is this Meg?_

The response is almost immediate.

**[773-354-6241] 7:22PM: Took you long enough**

Dean rolls his eyes. There are a million things he wants to ask her, but he’s not entirely sure that she’ll answer them, so he sticks to the most basic. He trusts that Meg saw last weekend that Dean only wants what is best for Cas.

_[You] 7:23PM: Is he okay?_

The wait is longer this time, and Dean takes the time to add Meg to his contacts. He’s about to give up and call her when the phone lights up in his hand.

**[Meg] 7:26PM: No, not really, but he will be. He just needs to reboot sometimes. This is going to be harder than usual.**

**[Meg] 7:26PM: Give him some time. If he isn’t letting you in by this weekend, push.**

_[You] 7:27PM: Thanks_

**[Meg] 7:28PM: I’ll deny it if you tell anyone I helped you**

Dean chuckles. He saw beneath the snarky-bitch mask that Meg wears while they were in Pontiac. They might never be friends, but he’s not going to complain about having another person around who cares about Cas as much as he does.

He thinks about her advice to give Cas a few more days. He’s not sure that letting Cas isolate himself longer is going to do any good, but it’s only two more days until it can technically be considered the weekend.

Dean and Ben have bedtime snack while watching the end of the episode of _Star Trek_ they interrupted. Ben doesn’t mention Cas again, but he seems subdued while Dean tucks him into bed. By the time Dean finishes the second song, Ben is already asleep.

While Dean would usually stay up and get some chores done around the house after Ben is in bed, the thought exhausts him. There’s nothing that can’t be put off for another day while he tries to catch up on the sleep he’s lost by constantly worrying about Cas for the last week.

He strips off his clothes and throws them in the hamper before pulling on pajama pants and a t-shirt. It’s only May, but it’s already warming up enough that soon he’ll have to switch to shorts and no shirt at night. He turns off the light and rolls over just as the room is illuminated by his phone ringing. More out of habit than anything, he taps to accept the call and holds it to his ear without looking at it.

“Hey, man,” a familiar voice greets him.

Dean rolls his eyes and fights back the urge to hang up. He’s really not in the mood for this. “Hey, Ash,” he says instead.

“I need a ride from the airport in KC next Thursday night.”

“I’m not a cab or a rental car service,” Dean responds irritably.

“Come on, man. Don’t be that way,” Ash wheedles, voice dropping into a low coaxing tone that has always worked before.

“Ask your mother or Jo to pick you up.”

There’s a moment of silence, during which he knows Ash is surprised that Dean is standing his ground. It’s never been something he’s good at when it comes to Ash. “So that’s it? Thirty-five years and we’re just not gonna be friends anymore?”

Dean presses his fingertips to his temple, against the dull ache he can feel building there. “I want to be friends, Ash, but I don’t think that’s what you want.”

“You’re my best friend, asshole. Why wouldn’t I want that?”

Dean resists the urge to throw the phone across the room. Things were easy with Ash for so long, and now it’s like they’re speaking two different languages. “You don’t want to just be friends, Ash.”

There’s a long pause and Dean can imagine Ash’s expression. It’s the same look he always gets when he’s trying to puzzle something out, and this time, the problem is how to get Dean to give in. “I just need a chance to make it up to you.”

Dean presses the heel of his hand into his eyes where it’s throbbing. What he wouldn’t have given to hear those words a year ago. “You had your chance, Ash. Seven fucking years is a lot of chances.”

“Dean, I lo—”

“Don’t,” Dean cuts him off with a growl. “Don’t fucking say it, Ash, or I swear to God, I will drive to the airport just to kick your ass and then leave you there.”

There’s another long pause, nothing but the sound of both of them breathing until Ash finally breaks the silence. “Okay. I’ll see if mom or Jo can pick me up, but, ah, I’m gonna be in town for a couple weeks. They’re makin’ us use all our vacation before they close the doors, so, yeah, I’d really like to see you and Ben while I’m there.”

Dean opens his mouth to tell Ash to go to hell, but he’s just really tired of fighting. “Okay, yeah. We’ll see, man,” he says instead. “I gotta talk to Cas about it, but yeah, we’ll see.”

If Ash can tell that Dean is just putting him off, he doesn’t say anything about it. “I’ll text you when I get there,” he offers.

“Yeah, okay. You do that.”

“Dean.”

Dean sighs. “Ash, I’m beat. Can we just not do this right now? Okay?”

“Yeah, man. Okay. I’ll talk to you next week.”

Dean stares at the phone long after it goes dark. Fuck. Dean hasn’t missed the shadows in Cas’ eyes every time Ash’s name is mentioned. Despite Cas’ adamant denial, he knows the other man is insecure about their relationship. Double fuck. He’s going to have to tell Cas about this sooner rather than later, but it’s really the last thing Cas needs right now.

* * *

* * *

The room is still dark when Cas wakes up. He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, but it can’t be too long because his arm isn’t tingling where it’s bent awkwardly under his head. He hasn’t slept more than an hour or two at a time since returning from Pontiac and the churning pit in his stomach makes it almost impossible to eat.

He managed to stop Dean from bringing more food last night, but only by telling him that he still had soup left. Although it tastes like chalk in his mouth, he forced down a bowl each night, but only because he promised Dean he would.

There’s an aching ball of loneliness in his chest where Dean should be. He wants desperately to be selfish, to let Dean come over and take care of him like he did in Pontiac. Dean would wrap his strong arms around Cas and hold him as long as Cas needed. He would listen to Dean’s heart beating until he remembered that he’s still alive.

As much as Cas wants that, aches for it, he can’t let himself be greedy. Dean has a life, a full-time job, and a child to take care of. The last thing he needs is to spend his time taking care of a grown man who can’t drag himself to work or even seem to remember to feed himself. He looks down at the end of the bed, where Juliet is curled amongst the blankets. At least he remembered to feed her last night.

The first week after returning from his mother’s funeral was rough. He was given bereavement leave for the rest of the week, meaning he had nowhere to be and no reason to get out of bed. Other than a couple texts throughout the day, it was easy to fall into a stupor where he didn’t have to think about anything. As the week wore on, it became harder and harder to find a reason not to just lie in bed all day, a change of events that Juliet was all too happy to approve. He quickly learned that as long as he responded to everyone's text messages, no one bothered him.

By Sunday, the gaping hole in his chest hadn’t improved. Rather than feeling better when he got out of bed, his limbs felt heavy and the constant fog in his head made it hard to think. Although he wanted nothing more than to just bury his head under the blankets and stay in bed the rest of the week, he stumbled into the shower Monday morning and washed three days of sweat off himself before heading to the school.

Getting lost in the children wasn’t as easy as he was expecting it to be. The constant weight of condolences from well-meaning colleagues bore down on him until he was almost unable to get out of bed Wednesday morning. Never one to shirk his responsibility, no matter how much he felt like he was breaking apart from the inside, he pulled himself out of bed again and dressed in a semblance of normality.

Whether it was the way he floated through the day, utterly grateful for how well Becky stepped up to lead the class or the dark circles under his eyes, he can’t even say he was particularly surprised when Hannah called him into her office and told him to take the rest of the week off. That fact that he didn’t have the strength to put up even a token fight should have told him that something was wrong. 

The need to use the bathroom is the only reason he climbs out of bed now. As soon as he stands up, the soft lounge pants he wears slip down to rest against his hip bones. He frowns and tugs at them. He could have sworn they fit just fine a few days ago. Although the sick feeling in his stomach hasn’t gone away, maybe he should try to force down a few pieces of toast and some tea.

Juliet jumps off the bed with a small whine, following him to the edge of the bathroom. When he comes back out, she vacillates between the bed and the door, clearly willing to follow his lead on whichever route he chooses. Cas looks over at the bed and thinks about curling under the covers again, covering his head and pretending that everything is okay. Juliet whines again, obviously confused by his lack of movement.

Cas catches his reflection in the mirror over the dresser and almost doesn’t recognize himself. His face looks gaunt and pale, his cheekbones much more prominent than he remembers them being. His chest is bare and now that he’s looking for the evidence, it isn’t hard to see that he looks thinner. Tea and toast it is.

Juliet leads the way downstairs and paces restlessly around the kitchen while he makes four pieces of toast and a cup of tea. Instead of eating at the table, he carries the plate into the living room and curls up at the end of the couch. The first bite tastes like sawdust in his mouth, but he forces himself to take another.

It’s certainly not the first time he’s forced down toast. Tea and toast were his mother’s go-to when Cas wasn’t feeling well, for as long as he can remember. That Thanksgiving, two years ago, when he came down with a stomach bug while at her house, his mother had made him tea and toast and it tasted just like it did when he was a kid. It tasted like home, not like sawdust, not like this.

He forces down another slice, then spends the next hour slowly tearing the remaining slices into strips and feeding them to Juliet. Better than letting them go to waste, he tells himself. At least the tea is a little easier to swallow.

Cas stares out the back windows. He hasn’t filled the birdfeeders in two weeks, but that doesn’t stop the warblers, thrushes, and sparrows from flitting around the backyard. Although he took the class on beekeeping that Dean and Ben got him for Christmas, he hasn’t had time yet to set up the hives, a fact that he’s grateful for now. He doesn’t think he has the energy to actually take care of them now.

With more effort than should be needed, he pushes himself up and carries his dishes to the kitchen. Rather than wash them, he dumps them into the dishwasher and lets the door slam. Even though he hasn’t washed dishes since returning from Pontiac, the dishwasher is barely half full.

Juliet follows him to the door of the studio, then pauses as this is where he would normally shut the door on her. Instead of closing her out, though, he leaves the door open when he walks inside. She stops at the threshold anyway, tilting her head as she watches him walk to the music system on the wall and cue up a playlist from Pandora.

He walks over the yoga mat spread on the floor, but instead of moving into his first pose, he just lays down on the mat, arms at his sides and stares up at the ceiling. The music starts, the first song a soft piano intro that is melancholic even without the raw vocals that follow. He closes his eyes and lets the unfamiliar melody, with its tale of lost love and connections broken, wash over him.

He doesn’t look up when he hears Juliet pad slowly across the room with a soft whine. She curls onto her side, a warm weight pressed again him and rests her head on his hip. Without opening his eyes, he raises one hand to run his fingertips gently across the top of her head then down her back to rest on her flank.  

Growing up, he’d always wanted a dog. He remembers asking, begging, but his father always said no. Every time, his mother would curl up on his bed with him as he cried about his father’s unfairness, her soft hands stroking his hair. She told him once, when he was old enough to understand, that she wanted a dog too, that she’d always had one growing up. Cas couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve, but he remembers thinking for the first time that maybe his mother didn’t like his father’s rules any more than he did.

Cracking his eyes just a slit, he looks up at the blank canvas sitting on his easel near the door. He can almost feel her hand as it engulfed his, showing him how to make gentle strokes against the paper rather than the bold swatches of color he always started with. Her touch was one of the only ones he could bear and for as long as he can remember she used her hands only to soothe and teach and nurture, never to hurt or scold. That touch, the feeling of his hand in hers, is yet another thing he’ll never have again.

Despite the empty, broken feeling inside him, nothing ever seems to bubble to the surface. He slides both hands up to press fingertips to the corner of his dry eyes. Every time he does it, he hopes to feel tears there. Maybe if he could cry, his tears would wash away this hollow filling. Maybe if the dam would break, he would be able to feel again, to feel something more than a gaping blankness where his mother used to be.

The music continues, one sad song flowing into another. Numbness encroaches, making his limbs leaden and his breathing slow until it barely feels like he’s alive. If it wasn’t for the solid, comforting weight of Juliet pressed against him, he’d wonder if he can really feel anything at all. Maybe numb is all he’ll ever be.

There’s a soft buzzing sound, the barest vibration, and he ignores it until he realizes that it’s his phone, laying on the mat next to him. It must have fallen out of his pocket when he laid down. Though it feels like such a burden to move, he drags one hand down his chest to reach for the phone. Dean’s name appears on the front under a small candid photo he’d taken the last time they were at the Roadhouse. He holds the phone until it stops buzzing, the drops it onto his chest.

It isn’t that he doesn’t want to talk to Dean. More than anything, he wants to hear the other man’s voice. He wants to wrap himself in it, carve place inside Dean’s chest and climb inside where he never has to be alone or cold or empty again. He wants Dean to wrap his arms around him and tell him it will be okay, that he won’t feel like this forever.

That’s why he doesn’t answer. Dean needs someone who is strong, someone who can help him with Ben and be there for him. He doesn’t need Cas to cling to him like a barnacle that can’t survive on its own. Dean shouldn’t even bother trying to be around him right now. He’s tried so hard to prove that he can take care of himself, that people can count on him to be there for them. There’s nothing he can offer anyone when he’s like this.

His phone goes off three more times while he lies there. Two more phone calls from Dean and a text from Meg asking if he wants her to bring pizza over. After the second phone call, he pulls up the menu and puts the phone on silent. Just a few more days. A little more time and he’ll be able to pull himself together. He’ll get up and go to work. He’ll smile and let Dean hug him and tell him he’s okay. He’ll remember how to be a real boy and not this empty shell of a man.

Cas doesn’t hear the noise that makes Juliet’s ears stand up, but he hears the knock on the door that follows briefly after. He keeps his eyes closed and wonders if he ignores it for long enough, will whoever it is go away? There are four more knocks and then silence. If he could smile, if the muscles in his face would move at all, he would show some kind of emotion at being successful at getting the world to leave him alone.

His victory is short-lived. After a moment of silence, the pounding resumes, more insistently this time, in rapid-fire succession. He can almost imagine that he can feel the door rattling in its frame. The pounding is accompanied by Dean’s voice. Cas can’t quite make out the words but he sounds scared, or angry, or both.

Juliet jumps up and runs to the door of the studio, looking back excitedly for Cas to follow. Dean is right outside the door. Although the hole inside left by his mother’s passing may never be filled, the aching loneliness he feels can be fixed just by getting up and walking to the door. Cas is torn between wanting to cover his ears and ignore it until Dean goes away and wanting to rush to the door, drag Dean inside, and never let go.

Between Dean’s yelling and the way he’s pounding on the door, it won’t be long before he attracts the attention of Cas’ neighbors. Ignoring the way his limbs ache as he pushes himself up, Cas stumbles down the hallway to the front door. There’s a pause, a moment when he thinks he’s too late and Dean has given up, but then the pounding starts again. Cas can make out the words now.

“I know you’re in there, Cas. Meg said you haven’t been back to work since Wednesday and you’re not answering her calls either. I swear to God, Cas, if you don’t open this door by the time I count to ten, I will bust your living window out. Either you open this door, or I’m coming in one way or another.”

Cas turns the deadbolt and wrenches the door open, keeping a firm hold on it so that it doesn’t fly backward with the strength of Dean’s blows.

Dean pulls up short and just looks at him for a moment before his face crumbles. “Dammit, Cas,” he mutters, before shoving past Cas into the house.

Cas holds the door for a moment before pushing it shut, then turns to meet Dean’s angry glare. He standing by the kitchen island with his hands shoved in his pockets. “What are you doing here, Dean?”

Dean’s throat works for a moment, then he gasps, “What am I doing here? Really? What am I doing here? I came to make sure you weren’t dead, Cas.”

Cas hates seeing Dean like this, hates being the cause of Dean being so worked up. He starts to take a step forward, to go to Dean and comfort him, when he remembers that Dean is better off not being around him right now. “I’m fine,” he says. He doesn’t have to work hard to make his expression a blank mask.

“You’re fine? Oh really? That’s great, Cas. That’s just fucking great,” Dean sputters, turning to stomp into the living room.

“Yes, really,” Cas forces himself to say. The sooner Dean leaves, the easier it will be to protect him. “You should go.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “No.”

Cas squints in confusion. “What?”

“Pretty damn simple, Cas. Capital N, capital O. I’m not leaving.” He pulls his hands out of his pockets and crosses his arms against his chest, his stance defensive.

“Dean.”

“No, Cas. Not happening,” Dean insists. “If you’re going to stay here, then I’m going to stay with you. You can ignore me, you can pretend like I’m not here, but I’m staying, for the next two days. Ben is with Sam and Jess for the weekend, so you’re not getting rid of me.”

Cas’ eyes widen. This is exactly what Cas didn’t want. Dean can’t put him ahead of Ben. Ben needs his father and until Cas can pull himself together he’s exactly what they _don’t_ need. “Dean, you can’t, you shouldn’t, Ben needs you.”

“Ben needs you too, Cas,” Dean states firmly. “I need you.”

Cas looks away. He can’t bear to see Dean look at him as if any of this makes sense. “I, you shouldn’t, you can’t. I’m not worth it.”

Dean’s pained, shadowed expression bursts into anger and he steps forward until he has Cas blocked in against the island. He reaches out and puts both hands on the countertop on either side of Cas’ hips, effectively boxing him in. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. You don’t get to tell me what you’re worth to me or to Ben. You’re part of this family and this family sticks together.”

Cas’ eyes burn and his throat swells until he can barely breathe. “No, no, Dean. I can’t help you like this. I’m not good for anything right now.”

Dean frowns in confusion. “Help me with what?”

“With Ben, with, just, with everything you need. You should go. You should go and when I’m better, it will be okay. I just need some time to get better.” The heat of Dean’s body pressing against him is making it hard to think, hard to remember why Dean shouldn’t be here.

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t need help with Ben,” he says softly, eyes softening. “I need to help you, that’s what I need. This past week has killed me, Cas. I’m tryin’ to respect your choices, but not bein’ able to be here for you is ripping my heart out.”

The pain in Dean’s words, the way his green eyes sparkle with unshed tears, it’s too much for Cas. This is what he didn’t want, to be a burden, to cause Dean pain. “I should be strong enough to do it on my own,” Cas forces out, his voice barely a whisper.

Dean shakes his head slowly, hands sliding in so that his arms are pressed against Cas’ hips. “You are strong, baby. You are so strong, but you don’t have to do it on your own. We’re in this together, Cas. Please, let me help you. I can’t,” Dean’s voice breaks, one tear sliding down his cheek. He takes a shaky breath before continuing. “I can’t stand not being here for you. Please, Cas. Let me in.”

Cas watches the wet slide of the single tear. As if that one tear opened the gates, Cas pulls in a shaky breath and launches himself at Dean, arms going around the other man’s neck in a stranglehold before the first sob rips through him. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry. I can’t do this alone.”

Dean holds him, hands running up and down his back, leaving feeling where just moments before there was aching nothingness. “You’re not alone, baby. You’re never going to be alone again.”

“I miss her so much. I hate this,” he sobs, soaking the shoulder of Dean’s shirt, Dean’s neck slick and shiny with Cas’ tears. “We should have had more time. She was going to love you. I was going to make her see how special you are and she was going to finally see that it doesn’t matter. She was going to look at you and see that I’m still worth loving, that it doesn’t matter that I’m gay because someone as wonderful as you could love me. She was going to see, Dean. I would have made her see.”

Dean is murmuring words that aren’t really words, just nonsense sounds and affirmations. He presses his face against Cas’ hair and holds him while he cries. Now that he’s started, he’s afraid he’ll never stop. It’s like a healing fire burning through him, but he’s terrified the blaze will burn him up from the inside. “I miss her so much, Dean. I didn’t think anything could hurt this much.”

“I know. I know,” Dean croons, hands gentle on Cas’ back, his sides, stroking his hair, then coming to rest on his wet cheeks. Dean pulls him forward to press gentle, chaste kisses against Cas’ lips, his cheeks, his eyelids, and his forehead. Dean is crying too, but instead of feeling like he’s hurting Dean, it feels like solidarity. It feels like Dean knows his pain. “I know it hurts. It will get better, I promise.”

Cas isn’t really sure how long they stand there, how long he cries. It seems that every tear he didn’t shed in the last week, every ounce of pain he blocked off and didn’t let himself feel, is ripping through him all at once. By the time he comes back to himself, he is shaky, wrung out and limp in Dean’s arms.

Dean stoops and before Cas registers what is happening, he slides one arm beneath Cas’ knees and lifts him against his chest. A wet, shaky laugh bubbles up at the absurdity. “You’re nuts,” Cas gasps.

Dean just shakes his head and carries him the few steps to the couch before sinking down against the cushions, Cas still cradled against his chest. “You see?” he says softly, bringing the hand up from beneath Cas’ legs to stroke gently down his face. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. I can be strong too. I’m strong enough to lift you up when you need it. Don’t shut me out, baby. I can’t take it. We can be strong together.”

Cas turns to press a watery kiss to Dean’s palm. It still hurts. There’s still an ache inside every time he thinks of all of the words he’ll never get to say to his mother again, but it also feels like something has loosened. He’s not numb. He may be hollow, but that’s because Dean has scooped out his insides and filled it with himself. _Family sticks together_ , Dean said. Cas rests his head wearily against Dean’s chest and lets himself drift to sleep, knowing that no matter what, Dean will be there when he wakes.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're winding down, just 5 chapters to go!

Dean has been ignoring the prickly feeling in the back of his mind all day, so he should practically be an expert by now. Unfortunately, it’s not that easy to forget that Ash is back in Lawrence. Although he hadn’t asked her to, Jo texted him just before he got off work to tell him that she picked Ash up at the airport and they were at the Roadhouse. He’s been in a pissy mood all day, so he just thanked her for the warning.

Ben drops his backpack on the floor beside the couch and flops onto the couch. Normally, Dean would grouse at him to pick it up and take it to his room, but he just doesn’t have the energy.

“You got homework, bug?” he calls, walking into the kitchen to see about dinner. While cooking normally relaxes him, he’s not really in the mood to make anything elaborate.

Ben looks up from where he’s fiddling with a small robot. “I finished it while I was waiting for the bus.”

Dean nods absently and turns back to the fridge. “We got leftover spaghetti or I can throw a frozen pizza in the oven.”

“Can we have pizza?”

“Sure.” He sets the oven to preheat and digs a pizza out of the freezer. He usually prefers to make pizza from scratch, but he keeps a few pre-made ones stocked for emergencies. Given the way he’s felt all week; this definitely counts as an emergency.

Even without Ash’s looming visit, the week hasn’t been easy. Cas is still distant and edgy, but at least he isn’t shutting Dean out anymore. Dean has dropped off food every night and he even talked Cas into letting him and Ben come over for dinner on Tuesday. Although Cas was withdrawn and quiet, he did crack a small smile in response to Ben and Juliet’s antics so Dean considered that a win.

As if watching Cas struggle with his mother’s death isn’t enough, Dean has been anxiously looking for the right time to tell Cas about Ash. Every time he opens his mouth to mention it, though, the dark circles under Cas’ eyes stop him. The last thing he wants is to upset Cas more so he put it off; telling himself every day that Cas would be up to it tomorrow. Now Ash is in Lawrence and Dean still hasn’t mentioned it.

He throws the box on the counter and crouches to pull the pizza stone out of the cabinet. It may not be homemade, but at least the crust can be nice and crispy. He sets the stone down gently and pulls the cardboard tab to open the pizza just as he notices his phone buzzing in his pocket.

Hoping it’s Cas, he sets the pizza aside and digs it out. Dammit, not Cas.

  **[Ash] 5:52PM: Come over to the Roadhouse**

Dean sighs. Ash has been in town for less than an hour and it’s starting already.

_[You] 5:54 PM: No. I’m making dinner for Ben._

**[Ash] 5:55PM: Come get dinner here. On me.**

_[You] 5:55 PM: No thanks_

Dean tosses the phone on the counter and pulls the plastic wrapped pizza out of the box. Before he can rip into the packaging, his phone buzzes again. This time, the notification turns into the repeated buzz of an incoming call. Sure it’s Ash he almost ignores it, but the fear that it might be Cas gets the best of him. It’s neither.

“Hey, Jo,” he says, holding the phone up to his ear.

“Come over to the Roadhouse.”

Dean groans. “Seriously, Joanna. Tell him that getting you involved is pretty damn low.” He glances out into the living room, but Ben is engrossed in the cartoon he has turned on.

“He’s my brother,” she retorts. There’s a pause, then softer, “and he looks like shit.”

“Jo.”

“Just listen for a minute,” she snaps. “I know, Dean. I get that he’s fucked up and that you’re with Cas now. I’m not doing this to try to get you back together. What he’s doing ain’t right, but, well, just come over and talk to him. I don’t want to watch you two rip each other apart and that’s what’s gonna happen if he goes through with this.”

Dean presses the heel of his hand against his eye, then clasps the back of his neck. As angry as he is at Ash right now, he doesn’t want this to blow up any more than Jo does. Ash is family, just like Bobby, Ellen, and Jo, and if he and Ash can’t work this out it’s going to make all of their lives really fucking awkward. “Fine. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

There’s another pause, then Jo murmurs, “Thanks, Dean.”

“I’m doin’ this for you and Bobby and Ellen, not him. I’m not lettin’ our bullshit tear this family apart.”

“I know.”

Dean nods, more to convince himself since Jo can’t see him. “Okay then. See ya in a bit.”  He hangs up and shoves the phone in his pocket. “Hey, Ben, you wanna go to the Roadhouse instead of pizza?”

Ben’s head pops up from the coach. “Okay. Can I get a milkshake?”

Dean rolls his eyes with a laugh. “Sure, why not?”

It’s closer to twenty minutes before Dean pulls the Impala into the Roadhouse parking lot. He spent five of those minutes repeatedly typing out then deleting a text to tell Cas where he was going. He finally reasoned that telling him over text was not the way to go.

He spent the next five minutes staring at Cas’ contact in his phone, finger hovering over the call button. He finally chickened out on that too. He doesn’t want to tell him over the phone where he can’t see Cas' eyes to judge his reaction. Cas is vulnerable right now and prone to thinking the worst, so Dean doesn’t want to take the risk of not being able to straighten it out if he goes off the rails.

He’ll just get this over with, give Ash one last chance to see reason, then go over to Cas’ tomorrow night and tell him. Hopefully by then, there won’t be anything to tell because he’ll have talked Ash out of it. A minor glitch they can ignore.

While Ben usually takes off as soon as Dean lets him out of the car, Dean grabs his hand this time, forcing them to walk together into the bar. Using his kid as a human shield is a pretty shitty thing to do, but at least he knows Ash won’t start anything in front of Ben so Dean has a chance to get his bearings.

Ash is sitting at the far end of the bar, chatting with one of the regulars. Regardless of what Jo said, Ash looks just as good as he always does. His hair has grown out a little since Christmas; not quite back to mullet status, but definitely shaggier. Where it had been spiked on top, it now falls over his forehead and Dean watches him brush it to the side in an absent gesture that is so familiar it makes his chest ache.

Dean and Ben are only a few feet away when Ash looks up and notices them. He smiles; a genuine expression that is nothing like his usual cocky grin. From this distance, Dean can see that there are dark circles under his pale blue eyes and his face is pallid and drawn. He looks eerily like Cas has lately.

“Glad you could make it, man,” he says, standing to pull Dean into a firm hug. Dean doesn’t hug back, but Ash doesn’t mention it. “You look good,” he adds, then turning to Ben, “You too, little man. Brought those decals for your robot that I promised you.”

“You order yet?” Dean interrupts. They’re not here for Ash to butter up his kid.

Ash nods, eyes sliding away to the kitchen door. “I, ah, hope you don’t mind but I figured I’d put in an order for you so it’d be ready when you got here. Burger and nuggets, right?”

Dean wants to tell him no just to be difficult, but the hesitant, almost shy way Ash is acting has him on edge. Dean nods an acknowledgment. “Let’s grab a booth.”

Ash follows him to a booth along the wall, animatedly talking to Ben about the robot he built. When Ash slides into the booth he pulls Ben in after him. Dean wants to argue, to say that Ben should sit with him, but he can’t think of a justification that doesn’t sound childish.

Dean is quiet, just watching and listening to them talk. It’s so different from the careful, considerate way Cas talks to Ben. This is more like the meeting of two like minds, with tangents and sidelines than swirl back into the main discussion. He’s struck again how alike Ash and Ben are in some ways.

“Someone here order a milkshake?”

Dean glances up to see Ellen holding a tray with their order. She slides their food, two beers, and a chocolate milkshake onto the table. “You boys need anything else?”

They fuss over their food, as usual, then Dean waits until she walks away before dumping ketchup on his plate and stabbing a french fry into it. “That’s a lot of sugar for a school night,” he grouses. See, Ash doesn’t know the first thing about raising a kid.

Ben sucks happily on the straw, then sits back in confusion. “You said I could get one, daddy.”

Dean curses under his breath when Ash looks over with raised eyebrows. “You didn’t know that. If I didn’t already say yes, it woulda caused a fight,” Dean contends sharply, shoving another fry into his mouth.

Ash looks like he’s going to argue, then shrugs. “You’re right. I should have asked first.”

Not exactly the response he was expecting. Demure and agreeable aren’t exactly Ash’s norm. Dean wants to snap at him, to tell him to knock it off, but for the first time in their lives Ash is trying and something about it stops Dean from barking at him.

As they eat, Dean lets Ash pull him into conversation. They talk about work and the family, the restoration business, and Sam and Jess’ baby. They very carefully avoid talking about Ash’s job or Ben’s school, as if they both know that will lead into the conversation they’re avoiding.

Ash cajoles a sip of Ben’s milkshake and they’re arguing over the merits of chocolate versus strawberry when Dean’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out but keeps it below the edge of the table to look at it. Dean’s heart sinks.

**[Cas] 6:46PM: Finished the paperwork and am feeling up to getting out of the house. Want some company?**

Of course, he does. He always wants to see Cas, especially since this is the first time since the funeral that Cas is offering to leave the house for something other than work. He looks up at Ash and Ben from under his lashes, watching them giggling together over the milkshake. He sighs.

_[You] 6:48PM: would love to but can’t tonight. :( Got some stuff I gotta do. Dinner at your place tomorrow? I’ll make it up to you._

**[Cas] 6:49PM: :( is right. Ok. Miss you.**

_[You] 6:50PM: Miss you too._

Ash is watching him when he slides the phone in his pocket and looks back up. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth and he looks at Dean as if he knows exactly what Dean was doing. Dammit, no more putting this off. He pushes his plate away and leans back. “Come on, let’s settle up.” Ash doesn’t argue.

While Ash pays their bill, Dean catches Jo’s eye from behind the bar and motions her over. “Do me a favor and keep an eye on Ben for a bit? We’re gonna take this conversation somewhere that your mother won’t kick my ass if it gets ugly.”

Jo narrows her eyes. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jo puts her hand on his arm and squeezes gently. “You and Ash alone together is just as likely to go a different direction than ugly.”

“Jesus, Jo.” Dean jerks away. “We’re just gonna talk. I’m not gonna cheat on Cas or anything. That what you really think of me?”

Jo frowns, her eyes soft and worried. “No, not at all,” she says seriously, then adds in a more troubled voice, “except when it comes to Ash. I know you two. Don’t let him goad you into anything.”

“It’s not, we’re not like that anymore.”

She nods with a little sigh, then plasters a grin on for Ben. “Hey, Ben. I think Bobby finished the space shuttle picture without you. You wanna go see?”

As soon as Ben runs off with Jo, Dean starts for the door without waiting to see if Ash will follow. He isn’t surprised when the passenger door slams just moments after he closes his. “Where to?”

Ash shrugs, studying Dean as if he’s never seen him before. “Your place?”

Dean remembers Jo’s warning and shakes his head. He’s definitely not going to do anything to fuck things up with Cas, but there’s no reason to tempt fate.

“Bobby’s at the house. We could go to the garage.”

Better than the alternatives. Dean nods and shoves the key in the ignition. He pulls out of the lot with a spray of gravel that would get his ass kicked if Ellen saw.

It’s only a few minutes to the garage, but they’re both silent. Led Zeppelin plays softly but Dean makes no attempt to turn it off. Ash in the passenger seat and Zep on the radio, it’s like déjà vu of a thousand different nights growing up. Although he could park out front, he pulls the car around to the back bay where it’s hidden by the building and lets them in with his keys. He punches in the security code on the pad by the door, then flips on the overhead lights.

“It’s weird,” Ash says. “This place really hasn’t changed a bit.”

Dean almost argues with him, almost points all out the new equipment, the new security system, and the paint booth that was upgraded the year after Ash left. He doesn’t, because when he looks around the room, he sees exactly what Ash sees. The old bench where they used to read comic books, the pit where they worked side by side swapping the transmission in Ash’s Firebird, and the little supply closet where John caught him giving Ash a hand-job. A lot of their lives were lived in this garage.

“A lot has changed, though,” Dean says, forcing his voice steady.

Ash is still standing just inside the door, his posture wary, like he isn’t sure if Dean brought him here to talk or to fight. After a moment, he shrugs and walks over the work bench. He fiddles with the bench vice and then says, “I guess so. Remember the first time we snuck a six-pack out of Bobby’s cooler? Between my parent and your dad, I wasn’t sure who was gonna get the first lick in.”

Dean cracks a smile at the memory. “And Bobby was just laughin’ ‘cause we were sick as dogs, off three cans of beer each. Lightweights.”

Ash chuckles. “Things were so simple back then. No matter how many times your dad drug you off, I always knew you’d come back.” His eyelids flutter and when he looks back up, his eyes are serious. “I used to feel so guilty, you know? That I was glad you were home for good, even though it took dad dyin’. Like, I’d be so happy you were here that it felt like I was happy he was gone.”

Dean takes a few steps, letting the distance close between them a little. “I felt the same way,” he admits. “I didn’t believe it at first, that we were stayin’, but then a whole school year went by and dad never talked about leaving.”

Ash bites the inside of his cheek and looks away, across the garage. “I wouldn’t have survived that year without you. I was so fucking angry all the time and you just, I don’t know man, you just look it out of me.”

Dean takes another step and sits on the stool next to the bench. “Think it had more to do with me takin’ it out on your ass.”

“Best and worst summer of my life,” Ash says with a soft huff of laughter. “I’d always loved you, you know, you and Sammy, but I think that was the summer I fell _in love_ with you.”

Dean nods. He knows exactly what Ash means. His throat is tight when he admits, “I do love you, Ash. Always have and probably always will; no matter how much you make me want to kill you sometimes.”

Ash turns to lean against the bench next to him. “Yeah,” he scoffs.

“It’s true. I just, I’m not in love with you. Not like that. No anymore.” He can’t look at Ash when he says it.

“I used to have this fantasy that your dad would get his shit together and you’d decide you couldn’t live without me,” Ash says, his voice rough. “Stupid, I know, but I think I held on to that dream the entire first year. Even after you started dating Lisa and she got pregnant. I used to tell myself it was just a temporary glitch, that you two weren’t meant to be together. I felt so fucking vindicated when you broke up.”

Dean looks up at him, eyes wide. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Tell you that I was so fucking lonely, it was killing me? That I’d made a huge mistake leaving you? Get down on my knees and beg you to come to California? Yeah, that sounds like something I would do.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You’re an asshole.”

Ash shrugs flippantly. “You’re the only person in the world who knows me like that, really knows me.”

Dean thinks about Cas and how he has figured Dean out so completely in just a few short months compared to the decades he’s known Ash. He takes a deep breath and swivels on the stool to look up at Ash. “I used to think that was true, that we were the only ones that really got each other. I guess it used to be, but not anymore. We might as well be strangers.”

Ash’s shoulders tense and his jaw works silently before he sighs. “I made a huge fucking mistake picking that job over you. I’ve been thinking about coming home for the last couple of years, but there was Lisa, then the breakup, then the accident and you gettin’ Ben full time, it just never seemed like a good time. It didn’t seem like something I would be any good at helping you with.”

Dean laughs harshly. “And this is your definition of a good time?”

“It could be,” he retorts, pushing away from the bench but only taking a few steps before he turns back. “We could be good together. Like you said, a lot has changed. I’ve changed. I could be good for you and Ben.”

“What do you know about raising a child, Ash? Buy him toys and fill him up with milkshakes? It’s a lot more work than that.”

“You could teach me. I’m a fast learner,” Ash says, voice pleading as he takes a step back toward Dean.

Dean holds up his hand to stop Ash’s movement. “I don’t want to hurt you, but that’s not going to happen. Ben and me, we’re with Cas. He’s been there for me, for Ben, and he knows a hell of a lot better than you do what we need.”

“Dean,” Ash breathes, and his voice is more pained that Dean has ever heard it.

“No, just, dammit, Ash. Don’t do this,” Dean begs. He runs one hand down over his face and his voice is raw when he admits, “This would be so much easier if I wasn’t so damn selfish.”

Ash blinks, confusion evident. “You’re just about the least selfish person I know.”

Dean thinks about years of holding on to Ash, about Christmas, and all the ways he has hurt Cas. “I want you both,” he confesses. “I want Cas and I want my best friend. I don’t want to lose either of you. Dammit, Ash. Don’t make me choose between you.”

Ash bites his lip. “If you had to?” he asks hesitantly.

Dean shakes his head sadly. “I don’t think you’d like the answer.”

Ash breathes out a long sigh. “Do you love him?”

The laugh that escapes is harsh and ugly. “I’m not even sure I know what love is anymore, man,” Dean acknowledges, “but yeah, close as I can get, I guess. He’s good for me and I’m good when I’m with him.”

Ash bows his head. For a moment, Dean thinks that maybe Ash gets it. He imagines that Ash understands and realizes that things can’t go back to the way they were, that he’ll rip them apart if he tries. He cautiously takes a step toward his friend, raising one hand.

When Ash looks up, though, his eyes are glistening but determined. “It could be that way with us,” he asserts. “I just need time for you to see that I can be just as good for you, even better. I’ll take care of you and it will be even better than it was. I know you better than he ever could.”

Dean drops his hand and steps back, all of the fight draining out of him. Ash isn’t going to see reason. He’s going to move home and he’s going to try to come between Dean and Cas. As much as it hurts, Dean knows that he’ll never let that happen; that if losing Ash is the price for being happy with Cas, it’s one he’s willing to pay. “I’m tired of fighting, Ash. I gotta get Ben home for bed. He has school tomorrow,” he says, refusing to acknowledge Ash’s claim.

Ash’s jaw works, but he doesn’t respond. After a moment, he bows his head again as if he’s crumpled into himself. He brushes past Dean and out the door, making the motion-activated lights on the back of the building come on. Dean stops to reset the alarm, but when he walks to the Impala he realizes that Ash isn’t following him. His eyes search the shadows and he finds Ash standing at the entrance to the junkyard, staring out into the lot.

Dean walks up beside him and touches him lightly on the arm. Ash doesn’t startle, but he takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly before turning to look at Dean. “Come on, man. I’ll take you back to the Roadhouse.”

Ash shakes his head and in the light of the half-full moon, Dean sees the glint of moisture on his cheeks. “I’m gonna hang out for a bit. It’s not far. I’ll walk back to mom’s.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue. He doesn’t want to leave his friend out here alone and hurting. He wants to pull him into his arms and hold him and tell him that everything is going to be okay; the way he did when they were kids. No matter how much he wants to, though, he can’t do that. Dean and Ash have never lied to each other. They may hide the truth and dance around their feelings, but they never outright lie. As long as Ash is determined to come between Dean and the happiness he’s found with Cas, everything is most definitely not going to be okay.

Dean nods. “Be safe, okay? Jo and Ellen will kick my ass if anything happens to you.”

Ash swallows hard. “Yeah, man, I’m good. I’ll call you after the interview tomorrow; let you know how it went.”

“Okay,” Dean says instead of fighting about it. He’s exhausted and confused. There’s a ball of cold dread in the pit of his stomach that has him on the verge of tears he refuses to shed. So he just turns and walks back to the car, leaving his best friend standing alone in the dark.

From the garage, it would make the most sense to take the street that Cas’ house is on to get back to the Roadhouse. Instead of turning that way, Dean pulls left out of the garage and goes the long way around, weaving through the small residential streets. He has the rest of the night and tomorrow to figure out how to tell Cas, but right now he just wants to collect Ben and go home.

* * *

* * *

Cas sighs and drops his work clothes in the hamper before shuffling into the closet to pick out a t-shirt and a pair of soft lounge pants. He bites back a yawn and stumbles out into the living room, Juliet on his heels. Although he’s been going to bed earlier and earlier every night, it seems like he’s getting less and less sleep. As if lying awake staring at the ceiling wasn’t bad enough, the nightmares started three days ago.

On the rare occasions that he does manage to fall asleep, he wakes up in a cold sweat not much later. The dreams are hazy, nebulous, but leave him with a crushing sense of dread. Though he doesn’t remember all the details there is always the lingering feeling that they have something to do with his mother and Dean. He wants so badly to talk to Dean about them, but he knows how much Dean is already worrying so he doesn’t mention them.

Every night for the last week, Dean has either brought over food or offered to hang out. While he feels guilty for making Dean worry, he won’t deny that the other man’s attention does make him feel better and Dean seems to enjoy it. That’s why he was so surprised when Dean turned down his offer to come over last night. Dean hadn’t mentioned having plans when they spoke earlier yesterday, so it must have been something that came up last minute.

Cas flops down on the couch and stares out the back window. The bulbs and early perennials are blooming so that the yard is awash with a sea of color. He closes his eyes against the sight, a wave of pain sweeping over him. While the riot of blooms would usually bring a smile, all he can think about are his mother’s gardens. He and Gabe haven’t talked about what they’re going to do with the house yet, but he knows the conversation can’t be put off much longer.

He turns away from the window and looks up at the vaulted ceiling, one hand trailing down to rest lightly on Juliet’s head. His limbs feel heavy, aching. He hasn’t run or done yoga since before the funeral; hasn’t even had the urge even though he hadn’t gone more than a day or two without either in years. The intellectual side of him knows that he would feel better if he did, that the endorphins would help, but the rest of him is willing to roll over and ignore it.

When his phone starts buzzing, Cas pulls it out and glances at the screen before answering. While Dean’s’ attention makes him feel better, the daily check-ins from his brother make him feel like a disaster who can’t pull himself together. It’s never anything Gabe says, but just the fact that Gabe sounds semi-normal is enough to contrast with the fact that Cas can’t seem to get himself balanced.

Reassured that it’s Dean, he taps the answer button on puts it on speakerphone before laying it on his chest. Juliet’s ears stand up at the sound of Dean’s voice. “Hey, Ben and I are just leaving Missouri’s. Do you have stuff to make there or do you want us to grab a pizza or something? I could swing by the Roadhouse for burgers.”

There’s a part of Cas, the little ugly voice in the back of his head, that thought Dean was calling to cancel dinner. It's the part that thinks that Dean should be tired of taking care of him, of putting up with his melodramatic bullshit. “I have chicken and fish. You don’t need to bring anything unless you’d like pizza or burgers instead.”

The vague sound of a door closing and Ben’s voice are drowned out by Dean. “Nah, that’s good. I can put something together. Gonna get changed then we’ll be over. Twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be here,” Cas responds, that little voice questioning where else he would be since he barely leaves the house. Before Dean hangs up, though, Cas adds in a small voice, “I miss you.”

There’s a smile in Dean’s voice when he answers, “Miss you too. We’ll be there soon.”

Although Cas intends to get up and finish some chores, he’s still laying on the couch when he hears the Impala outside. He drags himself up and makes it to the door before Dean knocks.

“Hey,” Dean says with a smile. He brushes past Cas into the house, pausing to sweep a kiss across Cas’ cheek. Behind him, Ben carries Benson and a small pile of books.

“Daddy said I could pick out some books to keep in my room here,” Ben explains, heading directly to the guest bedroom he has claimed as his. Cas looks after him, a bubble of emotion filling his chest.

Dean, obviously misinterpreting Cas’ expression, adds sheepishly. “Sorry if that’s a little forward. I just figured it wouldn’t hurt to have more stuff here to keep him busy.”

Cas turns and smiles for what feels like the first time today. “I’m glad he feels comfortable here. He can bring over anything he wants. I want you both to enjoy being here.”

Dean pulls him into a hug, his body a warm, comforting pressure. He presses one cheek against Cas’ face, his stubble rasping along the beard that Cas hasn’t shaved in three days before turning to mouth along Cas’ jaw. “I like the scruff,” he whispers throatily when he reaches Cas’ ear. “It looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I’ll break my promise to Meg and fail to shave this weekend,” Cas offers, tilting his head to the side to give Dean better access. For the first time in two weeks, the pleasant burn of arousal seeps through Cas’ blood, making him weak.

“I could get behind that,” Dean says with a laugh, releasing him to turn toward the kitchen. Cas wants to call him back and ask him to hold on just a little while longer, but he doesn’t want to seem needy so he lets Dean go.

Dean rifles through the fridge and cupboards, pulling out ingredients to make lemon-pepper chicken and rice pilaf. He pulls out two pans and sets them to heat on the stove before starting to mix and whisk and chop the other ingredients. Ben joins them at the kitchen island and Cas pours him a glass of milk.

“Now that you have a personal chef your kitchen is stocked almost like you live here,” Dean teases, tossing some herbs into the rice that is browning in a skillet.

Cas tenses even though Dean is clearly joking. Does Dean think he can’t take of himself, can’t take care of them? Cooking is just one more thing that Dean has done for Cas with nothing in return. “You don’t have to cook for me,” Cas says stiffly.

Dean glances up, brows pinched together into a slight frown. “Hey,” he says gently, eyes softening, “I was joking, Cas. I like cooking for you, for my family. There’s nothing to feel bad about.”

Cas nods, unwilling to trust his voice, and Ben launches into a story about school that saves him from replying. He watches how easily Dean moves about the kitchen, still paying attention to Ben while keeping up with the flow of cooking. It’s like a dance that Cas doesn’t know the steps to.

“Hey, bug, you wanna set the table?” Dean asks, using a fork to test the fish for doneness.

“Okay, daddy,” Ben agrees, sliding off the stool. Cas takes down plates and glasses while Ben collects silverware from the drawer and together they carry them to the table. When the table is finished, Ben turns to Cas. “I like having dinner with you,” he says with a smile.

Warmth blooms in his chest again and he kneels to pull Ben into a hug. “I like having dinner with you too.”

Ben and Cas get the drinks while Dean brings the serving dishes to the table. Dean serves each of them before taking his seat, earning another small smile from Cas. He’s quiet while they eat though Ben and Dean fill the silence with stories about school, work, and their last game night with Charlie. Sitting down to dinner as a family was never a positive memory for him before Dean. With Ben and Dean chattering him around him as he eats, Cas finds himself smiling again for no reason other than that he’s happy.

After dinner, they clear the table and Cas washes the dishes while Dean and Ben dry and put them away. It’s calming, the routine of it, and the little touches Dean indulges in while he moves around the kitchen. He runs one hand across Cas’ back when he passes, drops a kiss against the side of his throat while Cas is finishing a plate, and rests his hands on Cas’ hips while the water drains. The way they joke and laugh while they work as if they really want to be here with Cas goes even further to dispel the shadows that have been lingering.

Ben drags several books out of his room and shows them to Cas while Dean lounges on the couch. “Not having a TV takes some getting used to,” Dean mumbles stretching out and throwing one arm over his face.

Cas looks up from the book he and Ben are reading and shakes his head. “I have a television, Dean. Two of them, in fact.”

Dean scoffs, turning his head to peek at Cas from under his arm with one eye. “Not in the living room.”

Cas raises one brow, the teasing improving his mood even more. “I enjoy watching television in bed.” He can tell from the look on Dean’s face that he wants to say something inappropriate, but his eyes flick to Ben and back and he just shakes his head with a laugh.

“Can I watch TV?” Ben asks, looking up from his book and causing Dean to laugh again.

“See, TV after dinner is a tradition, man.”

They get Ben set up in his bedroom with re-runs of _Dexter’s Laboratory_ , then make their way back out to the couch. When Dean stretches out, Cas moves to sit on the recliner. “What are you doing way over there?” Dean asks with a pout.

“I didn’t want to imp—”

“Cas, if you’re about to tell me that you didn’t want to impose on me laying my ass on your couch, I’m going to have to come over there.”

Cas gets up with an exaggerated sigh, hiding a grin behind his hand. He feels better than he has in days. Why was he avoiding Dean again?

When he approaches the couch, Dean spreads his legs slightly to give Cas room to sit between them. He lays back gingerly, not wanting to crush anything important, but Dean reaches forward and pulls him snuggly against his chest. He bends the outside leg and wraps it over Cas’, effectively pinning him in place. “Now I have you where I want you,” he murmurs in a husky tone, leaning down to run his tongue up Cas’ neck.

Cas shudders, head lolling to the side as Dean starts to knead his shoulders. He’d gone so long without being touched, but now that he’s used to it just a few days without Dean’s hands on him feels like a lifetime. He relaxes into the pressure, letting the tension bleed out of him; rigidity in his muscles he hadn’t even been aware of carrying until it’s gone.

Dean continues to mouth at his ear, his temple, down to his neck, then slides both hands down Cas’ arms. He’s half-hard where he’s pressed against Cas’ back, and for the first time in two weeks, Cas feels his body start to respond. His dick fills slowly with the way Dean is running both hands across his chest, fingertips ghosting against his nipples then down as low as he can reach before moving back up.

Cas arches into the touch, a low groan vibrating in his throat. Slowly, the caress tapers off until Dean’s arms are wrapped around his chest, lips pressed against his hair. They lay like that for several moments, just breathing together, until finally Dean sighs softly. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Cas murmurs with a small laugh, twisting so he can kiss Dean’s cheek.

“I know, I just, I told myself I was gonna take it easy tonight. I just missed you.”

“I missed you, too. You shouldn’t feel bad for wanting to touch me. I like it when you do.”

Dean squirms so that he can sit up a little, pulling Cas with him so that he’s propped against Dean’s chest. “I like it too,” Dean says softly. He breathes gently, chest rising and falling with his breaths, the calm undulations rocking Cas slightly. “I just want to hold you.”

Cas nods, closing his eyes and letting himself float in Dean’s embrace. He can hear Ben’s television from the other room, the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the mantle, and Juliet’s nails on the kitchen floor as she walks out to get a drink. It’s pleasant, almost meditative.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but he’s almost dozing when Dean says softly, “I know this is shitty timing, but I need to talk to you about something.”

His heart rate speeds up and he tenses slightly, but Dean runs his hands down Cas’ arms again, soothing as he goes. “Don’t get worked up. It’s nothing. Just something you need to know. I’ve been putting off telling you because I didn’t want to upset you.”

Cas captures one of Dean’s hands and squeezes. “Okay,” he says on a soft exhalation of breath.

Dean takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Ash is in town.”

Cas frowns in confusion. “Okay?”

Another deep breath that does nothing to make Cas relax. “He had a job interview today in Kansas City.”

It takes Cas a moment to process what Dean is saying, but when he does, he sits up and pulls away so he can look at Dean. “He’s moving back here?”

Dean nods with a sigh. “Maybe. I guess it depends on how the interview goes. He said last night he would let me know how it went but—”

Something clicks in Cas’ head, echoing in a sharp pain in his chest. “You were with him last night. That’s why I couldn’t come over.” It’s not a question and from the look on Dean’s face, it doesn’t need to be.

“I met him at the Roadhouse,” Dean admits, leaning forward to grab Cas’ hand. “I needed to talk to him.”

Cas doesn’t respond for a moment, heart beating erratically. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This is what Dean has been putting off telling him; all those times he looked like he was on the verge of saying something but never did. Cas opens his eyes and meets Dean’s gaze. “Did anything happen?”

Dean frowns. “Did anything happen? Like what? I don’t—” The moment that Dean realizes what Cas is asking is clear, his eyes widen and he draws in a gasp. “No,” he barks suddenly, loudly enough that Cas jumps, then continues more softly, “No, nothing happened. Jesus, Cas.”

He pulls back, sliding his legs around Cas so that he can sit up, then rubs his eyes furiously. “Is that what you think of me? That I would screw around with Ash behind your back?”

Cas flinches at the desolation in Dean’s voice. “I don’t know what to think.”

“I only went over there to try to talk him out of it. I need him to see that it’s over between us, that even if he moves home it won’t matter.”

“Is it over?” Cas asks softly, angry at himself for the way his voice breaks at the end.

With a jerk, Dean clenches his jaw and stands up. He stalks over to the windows and stares out into the night for a moment, before clasping his hands on the back of his head. His face is a mask of pain when he turns around. “How can you ask me that after everything we’ve been through?”

Cas stands, a little shaky and numb. He wants to bury his head in Dean’s shoulder and hide from the whole damn thing. Instead, he takes a few steps closer then stops. “You and Ben are everything I always wanted, Dean. I’ve been terrified that this would happen, that Ash would decide he wants you back, and that your history with him will win out just like it always does.”

Dean stands up straighter and looks right into Cas’ eyes, unflinching. “That is not going to happen. I’m exactly where I want to be, with the person I want to be with.”

All the words Cas wishes Dean would say swirl in his mind. He wants desperately to believe Dean, to trust that Dean’s feelings for him are strong enough to overcome the past that Dean shares with Ash. He remembers the way they were at Christmas. Ash’s easy, confident charm and the way he drew Dean like a moth to a flame. He watched while Ash played Dean, first flirting with Cas and then turning Dean on as easily as flipping a switch. He has never asked, but he’s almost certain Dean slept with Ash after he, Gabriel and Kali left. There doesn’t seem to be much that Ash wants that he doesn’t get.

“I love you, Dean,” he says, voice much calmer than he feels. He can barely bring himself to look at Dean with the pain clawing at him. “The thought of you deciding that you want to be with him destroys me.”

Dean surges forward and captures Cas’ face in the palms of his hands. He presses a kiss to Cas’ forehead, lips warm against Cas’ skin. “Look at me,” he says, forcing Cas to meet his eyes. When Cas finally raises his gaze to meet Dean’s vibrant green eyes, Dean pulls in a shaky breath. “Castiel Novak, that is never going to happen. You are who I want. Ash is my past, but you’re my future. I know you’re not in a good place right now, but I need you to trust me. No matter what Ash thinks he wants, I want to be with you and that is what matters.”

Cas wants desperately to believe, to trust that Dean knows what he wants. He takes a deep breath and nods, not taking his eyes from Dean’s. Dean leans in and very tenderly brushes his lips across Cas’ before pulling him in and wrapping him into a hug. Cas buries his face in Dean’s shoulder and breathes deep, the familiar musky smell of Dean settling him.

They breathe together, Dean stroking his hand lovingly through Cas’ hair until finally Cas takes a step back. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t,” Dean interrupts, pressing two fingertips to Cas’ lips. “You have nothin’ to be sorry for. I know this sucks and I would have told you sooner but things haven’t exactly been easy for you lately and I didn’t want to add to it.” He pulls his fingers away and replaces them with his lips, just a gentle slide that ends with a peck at the corner of Cas’ mouth.

“I do trust you.”

Dean nods, a wry smile. “I appreciate that.” He glances up at the clock on the mantle and sighs. “We should head home.”

“You could stay.” The thought of wrapping himself in Dean tonight is very appealing. Not necessarily anything sexual; just being held and knowing that Dean wants to be with him,

Dean frowns and shakes his head. “We need to get up at six tomorrow. Bobby is picking me up to go look at a new customer car for the restoration shop, so my dad is spending the day with Ben. He doesn’t get a lot of Saturdays off.”

Cas tries not to let his disappointment show. He helps Dean pack up Ben and kisses them both goodbye at the car, waiting until Dean backs out of the driveway before going back into the house. The silence is overwhelming even with Juliet following him from room to room as he prepares for bed. It almost seems too early to go to sleep, but he’s suddenly exhausted. As he curls up under the covers, Juliet at his feet, he tries not to worry that Ash will wear Dean down. This may be what Dean says he wants now, but their chemistry at Christmas was undeniable.

Forcing thoughts of Ash away, Cas closes his eyes and imagines that he’s falling asleep with Dean. The raspy sound of his breathing, the deep musky smell of his cologne, the way his legs tangle with Cas’ even when they roll apart in their sleep. There’s nothing he doesn’t love about sleeping with Dean.

Waking up with Dean is just as good. Sleepy morning kisses, the way Dean wrinkles his nose when he isn’t ready to get up, eating breakfast together. Dean has been so worried about him lately, maybe he should surprise him and bring breakfast from the little café by the park. They took Ben there over a month ago and Dean raved about their cinnamon rolls for a week. He could show Dean that he isn’t some broken thing that needs to be taken care of. Decision made, Cas reaches for his phone to set alarm before rolling over and snuggling into the blankets with a sleepy smile


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it isn't the big things that break us, it's the little, everyday things. Every day is filled with a thousand chances to say and do the thing that will matter in the end. The worst part is that we don't know what those things were until it's too late.
> 
> I'll just leave these lyrics here. . . .  
> "Say something, I'm giving up on you  
> I'll be the one, if you want me to  
> Anywhere, I would've followed you  
> Say something, I'm giving up on you"

The house is quiet. Sometimes, even after Ben goes to bed, there is so much to do that it doesn’t seem like sleep will ever come. Tonight, that peace is just as elusive, but it has nothing to do with the laundry piled at the foot of the bed or the load of dishes still in the dishwasher.

Dean takes another sip of the glass of whiskey in his hand and stares out the front window into the night, the burn of the drink a welcome distraction. Ben has been asleep for hours, but tossing and turning had led Dean to abandon his bed in favor of drowning his thoughts. As much as he fears going down the same path as his father, sometimes he just needs the blessed calm that Jim Beam brings.

He takes another swallow, clenching and unclenching his hand into a fist where it rests on his leg. The rhythmic, repetitive action soothes him. He tries tapping his fingers, one after another, like he’s seen Ben do when he’s agitated. Maybe there’s something to be said for it.

He presses his knuckles into his eye and tries to forget the haunted look in Cas’ eyes. _Did anything happen?_ Cas’ words echo in his head. Another swallow, the liquid going down like fire. _You and Ash alone together is just as likely to go a different direction than ugly._ Is that true? Is he just waiting for Ash to jerk his chain again? It stung when Jo said it, but since she’s had a front-row seat to the Dean-and-Ash show her entire life, he guesses that it is only natural that she thinks that way. She has watched Dean fall right back into Ash over and over again.

What really hurt was Cas assuming that something would happen between them; that Dean would cheat on him. No matter what went on with him and Ash, that was a line that Dean never crossed. When Dean was dating Cassie in high school, and during the two years he was with Lisa, he and Ash kept their distance. Of course, the first thing Ash did when Dean told him that he and Lisa broke up was send him a picture of his hand wrapped around his dick. It didn’t take much to steer their relationship down that path again.

Dean finishes the whiskey and sets the glass down on the coffee table with a sigh. There’s still half of the bottle left and he thinks about going into the kitchen for another glass. Only the knowledge that he needs to be up in five hours stops him. When he made plans to leave so early with Bobby, he figured he and Ben would end up staying with Cas, but he had been so overwhelmed with Cas’ response that it was just easier to come home. Now, looking out into the night, he regrets it.

He glances down at where his phone lies on the coffee table, dark and silent. Still no word from Ash on how the interview went. He finally broke down and texted Jo when he and Ben got home, but she hadn’t heard from Ash either. Given that the interview was over nine hours ago now, Dean isn’t sure how to read the silence. There was a time when Dean would have said he could predict what Ash would do better than the other man could himself, but that was before Ash walked in and told him he was moving to California. That was a plot twist Dean never saw coming.

Dean shrugs to himself in the dark and picks up his glass again. Bobby is driving, so if he’s dead on his feet he can just nap in the car. He’ll never hear the end of it if he has a hangover, but it’s better than facing the tornado of thoughts that won’t stop whirling in his head. He goes to the kitchen and pours another couple of inches into the glass, takes a large swallow, then pours some more.

The house is still and silent as he walks back to the living room. He starts to sink down on the couch again, the liquor finally dulling the ache in his chest, when headlights flit across the front window. He waits for them to continue down the street, but the car swings into the driveway and stops. The back driver-side door opens and a figure gets out. Dean waits with the glass held partway to his mouth until the car backs out of the driveway, but no one comes to the door.

Dean walks to the window and looks out. At first, he sees no sign of whoever got out of the car, but he has a sinking feeling he knows who it is. His eyes search the darkness until he finally spots a figure hunched over on the top step of the porch. With a sigh, he pulls the door open and steps out onto the porch. The figure doesn’t seem to notice.

Five steps across the porch, then Dean sinks down onto the step beside Ash, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight. Ash doesn’t react, even when Dean says his name softly. Dean turns to stare out across the yard, the warm pressure of Ash’s leg against his as the other man sits with his head in his hands, arms propped on his knees. Dean can smell the odor of booze emanating from Ash, drowning out the aroma of the whiskey in his glass.

After a few silent moments, Ash reaches out and snags the glass, emptying the contents in one long swallow then shaking his head with a grimace. He sets the glass on the porch next to him and mutters, “You always did get the good stuff.”

Dean bites back a huff of almost manic laughter. Leave it to Ash to show up on his porch in the middle of the night drunk off his ass.

“You got a nice place here. I ever tell you that?” Ash slurs, body swaying slightly.

“What are you doing here, Ash?” Dean asks, ignoring the comment.

Ash shrugs, slumping more until he’s resting heavily against Dean’s side. “Needed to see you.”

“It’s one o’clock in the morning,” Dean points out wryly.

“You’re up.”

Dean shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Silence falls over them again, punctuated only by the sounds of early spring insects and the occasional car moving through the neighborhood. In the distance, a dog barks.

“You wanna come in?” Dean asks softly. He knows he probably shouldn’t, but it’s not like he can leave Ash sitting on the porch.

Ash doesn’t act like he heard and Dean waits, until finally Ash nods and pushes himself up. He’s unsteady on his feet, a testament to how much he’s had to drink since, on a good day, Ash could drink Dean under the table. Dean reaches out to steady him and Ash leans heavily against him as they cross the porch and enter the house.

He leads Ash to the couch and watches as he drops onto the spot that Cas usually takes. A little knot of guilt settles in his chest. He knows that Cas wouldn’t like the idea of Ash being here, but he feels like he’s being ripped in two. What is he supposed to do? Dean sits on the opposite end of the couch, careful to keep as much distance between them as he can. He switches on the lamp and takes a good look at Ash. His eyes are bloodshot and there’s a bruise, mottled purple and swollen, along his cheekbone.  “What the hell happened?” he barks.

Ash glances over and shakes his head in confusion, before finally processing Dean’s outburst. He raises one hand to ghost fingertips over the bruise. “Guy thought I was hittin’ on him. Guess he wasn’t interested,” he slurs.

“Jesus, you got slugged at the Roadhouse?”

Ash lets out a bitter laugh. “Man, could you imagine? Nah, down at Jimmy Ray’s.”

Jimmy Ray’s is a bar on the other side of the river. Not quite on the strip, it’s close enough to campus that it isn’t exactly a dive, but far enough away that it attracts a rougher crowd than the clubs farther south. He and Ash spent a lot of their time there when they were together. While they could always drink at the Roadhouse, hanging out under their parent’s watchful eyes wasn’t always appealing.

“Were you?” Dean asks before he can stop himself. At Ash’s raised eyebrow, he clarifies, “Hitting on him?” He’s not even sure why he’s asking.

Ash shrugs. He pulls his legs up onto the couch and flops over so that he’s curled into the fetal position against the armrest. “Probably,” he mutters. “Not sure I can even tell anymore.” He sounds resigned; like something is irrevocably broken and even though he’s not sure how it happened, he’s accepted it.

Dean isn’t sure what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just watches Ash as his eyes slip shut. Dean has watched Ash sleep enough to know that he isn’t asleep, so he waits a few moments then asks, “You want a glass of water or something?”

Ash laughs, eyes still closed. “Another glass of whiskey.”

“I think you’ve had enough.” Ash’s hair falls across his eyes and Dean resists the urge to reach out and sweep it off his forehead. He clenches his hands into fists in his lap instead. They lapse into silence. Finally, when Dean can’t take it anymore, he asks, “You gonna tell me what happened?”

“Told you. Guy decked me ‘cause I insulted his manhood or some shit.”

Dean sighs. “Not at Jimmy’s, Ash. With the interview.”

Several beats of silence with no reaction, then Ash opens his eyes and pushes himself up so that he’s sitting with his legs curled under him. He looks at Dean for a long time, his expression inscrutable. Finally, he makes a small movement that might be a shrug and rubs the back of his hand with his thumb. Dean watches, mesmerized by the movement, until Ash says, “Offered me the job.”

Fuck. Dean had been banking on Ash not getting the job, so there wouldn’t be a question. Dean’s gaze flicks back up to Ash’s face, but he isn’t looking at Dean. He’s staring down at his hands, a hint of glistening moisture at the corner of his eye. Dean doesn’t say anything for a long time, until Ash finally looks up, his blue eyes pained. “I fucked up, Dean,” he whispers, voice still rough with alcohol.

Dean nods, unable to trust his voice. Several tears fall, fat and glistening as they roll down Ash’s cheeks leaving slick trails behind them. Dean’s heart aches, not just for Ash, but for himself and for everything they lost. Choices were made that can’t be taken back and the worst part is that Dean knows now that he wouldn’t take them back even if he could. This might not be the life he envisioned when he was twenty-three, but it’s one he can live with. “I know,” he murmurs, hands clenched into fists in his lap to keep him from reaching for Ash.

“How do I fix it?” Ash’s voice is small and broken like a child. Even when they were kids, Ash was always the bold one, the one who seemed so much older than they were. Dean has never heard him sound like this; not even after his father died.

Dean swallows, throat thick with emotion. “You can’t. Some things can’t be fixed.”

“Fuck.” Ash rubs one hand across his face and bites his lower lip, chin trembling. He looks back at Dean, eyes tracing his face as if he’s trying to memorize it.

Dean should have probably been expecting it given how well he knows Ash, but it still comes as a surprise when Ash lunges across the couch and pulls him into a rough kiss. It’s desperate, hands clenching the sides of Dean’s face as Ash crushes their lips together furiously. He straddles Dean’s lap, pressing Dean back into the couch as he tries to elicit a response.

If there is one thing that Dean will remember about this moment, the single point of clarity in the maelstrom, it is that he doesn't kiss back, not even for a moment, not even in shock. Ash writhes on his lap, doing everything he can to turn back time, to pull Dean in and bring them back together. Dean can smell the liquor on his breath, feel the heat of his mouth and his hands as they stroke down Dean’s neck to cup the back of his head. As familiar as this is, as much as he’s lost himself to this heat a thousand times, in that moment he has only one thought. Cas.

After what feels like forever but could only have been a few seconds, Dean gathers his strength and shoves Ash away hard enough that he falls back, ass hitting the floor beside the coffee table in an undignified sprawl. “What the fuck, man?” he growls louder than he should if he doesn’t want to wake Ben. He wipes the back of his hand angrily across his lips as if he can scrub the kiss away.

Ash is crying steadily now, face slick with tears. “You still love me. I know you do, Dean. I can be what you need,” he pleads, words broken by a deep, sobbing breath. He starts to scramble up to come at Dean again, but Dean holds up his hands to keep him back.

“Don’t make me hit you, Ash. Please stop.” He shoves himself up from the couch and stalks to the other side of the room to put some distance between them. His eyes sting and he can feel tears of his own gathering. He scrubs angrily at his eyes with the heels of his hands, refusing to let them fall. “You can’t do this,” he barks, voice rough and broken. “You can’t come back here and think you can just get what you want just like you always do. I love him, Ash. I love Cas and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

Ash stops, swaying on his feet slightly, eyes wide. “You love him?” he asks shakily.

Dean swallows hard and nods, the truth of his words singing through him like fire. “I love him. You’re my best friend, but if you don’t stop, if you can’t let this go, let us go, I’ll cut you out of my life completely. I won’t risk him. Please,” he says, voice cracking. The tears fall without his permission. “Please don’t make me do that.”

Ash stops, body sinking into the recliner as if he is a puppet whose strings were cut. He buries his face in his hands, silent sobs shaking his body. Dean watches and his heart breaks, torn between anger at Ash, anger at the situation, and a desperate need to comfort his friend. Unable to tolerate it anymore, he walks to the fridge and yanks it open. He stands, staring inside for a moment before pulling out two bottles of water and slamming the door.

The living room is quiet when he returns. Ash has stopped sobbing and is staring out the window, face blotchy and eyes swollen. He sinks down to sit on the edge of the coffee table and twists the lids off both bottles before taking a drink of one and holding the other one out to Ash. It’s a long moment before Ash takes it and drains half the bottle in one long swallow.

Ash’s hair falls across one eye and this time, Dean does let himself reach out and smooth it away. A fine shudder runs through Ash’s body before he looks up and meets Dean’s eyes. “I didn’t take the job,” he says softly. He reaches out to touch Dean’s face, then pulls back at the last moment. “Been sittin’ on an offer from the sub-contractor at Ames. I called them and said I would take it.”

Dean’s heart almost stops in his chest and he frowns in confusion. “Then what was all this?”

“Last ditch attempt?” Ash responds, raising both hands then swallowing hard. His eyes are so blue in the dim light from the lamp that it makes Dean’s heart clench. “I wasn’t gonna come here, but—”  He shrugs. “Me and Jose Cuervo don’t make the best decisions together.”

“Jesus Christ, Ash,” Dean breathes.

Ash smiles, a sad quirk of his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes and laughs softly. “Yeah. Guess I coulda led with that.”  They sit in silence for a few minutes, just listening to each other breathe, then Ash says, “I do love you, you know? Don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

Dean nods. “I know.”

“I would come home anyway, but bein’ here, seein’ you with him?” He lets out a long sigh. “It would be too hard and I’d end up doin’ something to fuck everything up again. I gotta get my head on straight and I can’t do that here.”

“I’m sor—”

“Don’t,” Ash cuts him off. “Nothin’ for you to be sorry about. You deserve to be happy, Dean. That should be the one thing I care about. Better late than never, huh? Just takes some gettin’ used to.”

“Yeah.” Dean knows exactly what he means.

Ash presses the knuckles of one hand into his eye and yawns. “Gettin’ fucking late. I should get out of your way.”

He pushes himself up and is heading toward the door when Dean grabs his arm. “How are you gonna get back?”

Ash laughs. “It’s only a couple miles. I’ll walk.”

Dean looks up at the clock. “It’s almost two a.m. and you’re still drunk. Just sleep on the couch and stop being an asshole.”

“Your couch sucks.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Better than findin’ your ass in a ditch in the morning. I’m goin’ to Herington with Bobby, so dad is comin’ for Ben. I’m sure if you ask nice, he’ll drop you off at Ellen’s.”

“Yeah, ‘cause me and your dad get along so well. That’ll be just peachy.”

Dean raises both eyebrows. “Consider it your punishment for colossally bad decision making,” he offers dryly.

“Yeah, yeah, fine."

Dean goes to pull a blanket and extra pillow out of the closet. When he returns to the living room, Ash is sitting on the couch in his t-shirt and boxers. “I got some pajama bottoms.”

“Fuck that.”

Dean huffs a small laugh. “Whatever.” He waits until Ash is stretched out with the blanket tucked around him before he turns off the light. He pauses, standing over the couch. It feels like a door is closing and his chest aches with the finality of it. “Thanks for not making me choose,” he whispers. He turns and walks down the hallway without waiting for Ash’s response.

* * *

* * *

Steam, like a hazy cloud, wafts through the bathroom and settles on the mirror. As he towels off, Cas flips on the exhaust fan and waits for the fog to clear. He runs his hand across the scruff covering his jaw and thinks about what Dean said about liking him with the beard. With a smile, he drops the razor back into the drawer.

He dresses quickly, tugging on soft, worn jeans and an old Green Day t-shirt before running a comb through his hair. When he looks in the mirror again, his hair is tousled crazily anyway. He’s not sure why he even bothers anymore. Crazy sex hair, Dean called it. Cas grins at himself in the mirror.

Juliet shoves against him as he fills her food and water dishes and he chuckles softly. He doesn’t have time for belly-rubs if he’s going to make it to the bakery and over to Dean’s before Bobby arrives. Given that it’s been beautiful for the last week, he opts to take the Camaro rather than the SUV and he enjoys the way the car purrs as he pulls out of the garage.

Rather than going straight up 7th Street, Cas cuts across Maple so that he can see if Bobby’s old Chevelle is still in the driveway. Satisfied that he still has time to get breakfast and make it Dean’s, he continues north to the small café that has only been open for a few months.

“Where’s your man this morning?” Mildred, the elderly woman who runs the café, asks as she packages his muffins and cinnamon rolls. She places two to-go cups in the paper carrier with a smile when he hands her a twenty and tells her to keep the change.

Cas grins at the thought of Dean. There’s been such a dark cloud following him for weeks that it feels good to think of Dean and smile. “Probably still in bed,” Cas tells her with a wink. “I’m going to surprise them with breakfast because they have a big day today.”

Mildred clasps her hands together with a smile. “How sweet of you,” she announces with a small clap. “My Charles was always doing such nice things like that, breakfast in bed, flowers for no reason. They’re lucky to have you.”

Cas tucks the bag under one arm, his face heating up with her praise. “I’ll try to convince Dean to bring Ben in for brunch tomorrow,” he promises, offering a small wave as he steps out of the way for the next customer. He weaves amongst the tables to the door, drinks held up in front of him like a shield.

Back in the car, he tosses the bag on the passenger seat and wedges the paper cup holder in his lap. He takes the side streets carefully, balancing the hot liquid precariously. It would have been just as easy to make coffee in the fancy new machine Dean got for his birthday, but whether Dean wants to admit it or not Cas knows he has a fondness for the flavored syrups they use at the café.

It’s only a few blocks to Dean’s house so the heat is just seeping through the bottom of the cup holder against his legs when he arrives. He pulls up the driveway and parks the car. Setting the drinks on the roof, he reaches across the seat to pull out the bag of pastries. It’s a short walk up to the porch, but the anticipation of seeing Dean makes it feel much longer.

When he reaches the top of the stairs, he glances through the big picture window as Dean passes behind the couch and walks into the kitchen. Hair mussed, he’s still wearing his pajama bottoms and an Iron Maiden t-shirt. Cas watches as he rubs his eyes, the t-shirt pulling up with his movement to reveal a thin strip of skin at his hip.

Although he feels like a stalker, he can’t help but stop to appreciate how good Dean looks in the morning. Maybe if Dean isn’t back from Herington too late, he’ll be able to talk Dean and Ben into spending the night with him so that he gets to see that look again tomorrow. He shifts the bag to the same hand as the drinks and is turning to walk to the door when another movement catches his eye.

A man walks down the hallway from the bedrooms, his hair tousled and falling over his forehead. Cas’ breath catches in his throat when the man pushes his hair away and turns enough that Cas can see that it’s Ash. His hair is longer than it was at Christmas, less spikey on top, but it’s definitely him. He’s wearing a dark blue t-shirt and boxers as he walks into the kitchen behind Dean, brushing past the other man to open the fridge. Dean turns and the smile he gives Ash makes Cas’ blood freeze.

Cas can’t seem to breathe with the way his chest is constricted. He forces in a breath and pushes it out quickly, his eyes trained on Dean and Ash in the kitchen. Dean turns and says something that makes Ash laugh and the pain in Cas’ chest doubles. Ash, who is standing in Dean’s kitchen in his underwear. Ash, who just came down the hallway from Dean’s bedroom. Ash, who is moving back to Lawrence and seems determined to win Dean back. The blood thrums in Cas’ ears, every heartbeat seeming to echo Ash’s name.

Is that why Dean didn’t want to stay over last night? Did he know? Was it all a lie? Cas’ breath comes faster, his heart clenching arhythmically. A buzzing starts in his ears, heat then cold washing over him. Ash says something, flicking the dish towel at Dean and the other man’s face breaks into a wide smile. He looks happy standing in his kitchen with Ash. A low whimper bubbles up in Cas’ throat, the sound finally breaking him out of his daze.

He’s not sure whether his hands just stop working or whether he drops them intentionally, but the bag of pastries and drinks tumble to the porch. The lids fly off, dousing the side of the house in coffee and thin black tea. He should knock on the door, go in, and demand to know what is going on. He should yell and threaten and fight for what is his. Is he? Is Dean really his? Has he ever been? Or was he just on loan from Ash, waiting for Ash to decide when he wanted him back?

Cas closes his eyes and turns. He should fight, but he doesn’t want to go through that door. He doesn’t want to hear the words, see the look on Dean’s face when he says that he’s decided he wants to be with Ash. Cas remembers how Dean held his face, looked into his eyes, and told him that was never going to happen. But Ash is in Dean’s kitchen, in his underwear, and Dean looks happy. Cas’ heart breaks.

He leaves the take-out strewn across the porch as he backs toward the stairs. When his foot hits the top step, he turns and runs to the car, barely able to catch his breath as he slams the door behind him. His hands shake as he shoves the key into the ignition. He starts the car and backs out of the driveway. Drive, get away, don’t look back. The words pound in his head, echoing the pounding of his heart.

He’s four blocks away when he starts to cry. The first sob surprises him, driving out of his chest as if it was propelled by some great force. Tears overflow as his chest constricts again with another sob, then another, coming faster and faster until he can’t breathe. He drives, barely able to see the road in front him, his entire body shaking with the force.

There’s a parking lot ahead, a paved space in front of a little white church. Too caught up in his pain to even see the irony, Cas pulls over and shoves the car into park. He drops his head to the steering wheel as sobs rip through him. What a fool he’s been to think that someone like Dean could possible want him. He saw the draw between Dean and Ash time and time again, but he wanted to ignore it and believe Dean. Decades together and Cas really thought he could come between them. How stupid could he be? He should have known he would be the one to get hurt.

Maybe Zachariah was right and this is Cas’ punishment for flouting his parent’s wishes. He’s always been so focused on finding his own way, on doing what he wanted, being who he wanted to be. Maybe this is the price he pays for that freedom; the cost of always being alone. “Freedom is a length of rope,” his father once said. “God wants you to hang yourself with it.” He claws at his chest, breath coming so fast and choppy that it feels like he’s suffocating.

He cries until it seems that he shouldn’t be able to cry anymore. His sinuses hurt, his head is pounding, and the ringing in his ears feels like it will never stop. Damp fabric clings to his neck where his tears have run down and soaked the collar of his shirt. Pulling the bottom edge of the t-shirt up, he wipes his nose, not even caring when it comes away covered in snot. Who is there is see? Who would even care?

The thought of going home and walking into that empty house where memories of Dean permeate every room fills him with dread. Instead, he puts the car in drive and heads toward the river, toward the one person he knows will always be there for him. His eyes are dry but bloodshot when he catches sight of his reflection in the rearview mirror, far from the happiness he’d seen on his face in the bathroom mirror just an hour ago.

Maybe, he tells himself as he takes the bridge into Lawrence, maybe there’s an explanation. Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like. A man can stand in another man’s kitchen in his underwear and not have it mean anything. He lets out a sharp bark of laughter that threatens to turn into another sob before he strangles it in his throat.

He remembers the way Ash ran his hand up Dean’s thigh at Christmas, the way Dean melted against him when Ash stroked his arm. He remembers the dazed arousal in Dean’s eyes when Ash leaned over and whispered in his ear. He knows that look because he’s seen it himself now, while Dean was beneath him, on top of him, buried inside him. Of course, Ash just happened to be at Dean’s house in the middle of the night, just happened to lose his pants, just happened to be coming from Dean’s bedroom in the morning. All very normal. Doesn’t mean a thing. He bites back a laugh that borders on hysteria.

There’s a parking space directly in front of Meg’s townhouse and the car is barely in park before he’s getting out and slamming the door behind him. He doesn’t register the time before he rings the doorbell. He waits a moment then shoves the button down again and again. After the tenth time, he reaches down to pull his phone out to call her. Please be here, please be here.

He barely has the phone unlocked when the door swings open to reveal Meg in a pale gray bathrobe knotted at the waist. “What the everloving fu—” she starts, then cuts off when her eyes fasten on his face. She steps back to let him in without another world, then closes the door behind him.

“What happened?” she asks, her voice worried. She herds him into the kitchen and puts a kettle of water on the stove. “Is it Gabriel? Where’s Dean?”  Cas fights back a strangled sob, the tears threatening to overtake him again. She turns the burner on then comes to his side, one arm slipping around him. “What is it, Castiel?”

“I didn’t know where to go,” he forces out. He notices the time on the oven, just after six-thirty and his eyes widen. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t realize it was so early. I’m sorry, Meg.”

“Hush,” she says sharply. “It’s fine. I’m not a fucking vampire or something. I just need some coffee to make sure I’m awake.” She moves away from him to fiddle with the Keurig, then comes back to lean against the counter next to him. “What is going on?”

Cas pulls in a deep breath, not completely sure he can explain without bursting into tears. “Dean,” he starts, then feels his throat start to close again. He takes a few deep breaths.

“Dean,” Meg says, eyes narrowing. “Something happened to Dean?” When Cas shakes his head, she huffs irritably. “I love you, Castiel, but I cannot do this at six-thirty in the fucking morning.”

He takes another deep breath to steady himself. “I went to Dean’s house this morning to surprise him with breakfast,” he explains, glad he is able to get through that much without losing control. “Ash was there,” he adds quickly before his emotions overwhelm him again.

Meg steps back, her eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Ash was at Dean’s house? Can I guess from your reaction that they weren’t playing Monopoly?”

“Not unless it was strip Monopoly,” Cas snaps bitterly.

“Hmmm, strip Monopoly. That’s one we haven’t tried, darling,” a voice interrupts from the doorway.

Cas’ turns to gape at Balthazar where he leans against the doorframe. His matching robe is open, revealing his bare chest and black silk boxers. Cas can’t see his own expression, but he imagines it must be somewhat comical because Zar laughs before crossing the kitchen. He drops a kiss on the top of Meg’s head, then blocks her elbow to his midsection. “What? When? For crying out loud,” Cas exclaims. He snaps his mouth closed, then opens it to mutter, “I knew it.”

“Bully for you, Cassie,” Zar retorts, snagging the fresh cup of coffee off the Keurig before Meg can get to it. He takes a sip then sits on one of the stools at the counter, making himself at home.

Cas turns wide eyes on Meg, who shrugs indifferently. “Okay, yes, fine. Zar and I are—”

“Shagging?” Zar offers helpfully.

Meg look shoots daggers, then she throws up her hands with a huff. “Yes, whatever, shagging, fucking, so on and so forth. We’re getting off topic here.”

Cas shakes his head to clear it. “For how long?” he queries, doing some quick math in his head. “Since the beginning of April, at least?”

Zar looks up at the ceiling as if he’s calculating. “Late February?” he offers.

Cas’ eyes widen. “Late February? That’s, what the hell, Meg?”

Meg slams another mug down under the Keurig and stabs the buttons until it starts gurgling. “Missing the fucking point here, Clarence,” she bites out. “We’ll dissect my fucked up love life later. Back to naked Monopoly.”

Cas opens his mouth to argue, then shakes his head. Now that he thinks about it, Meg and Zar aren’t that far-fetched. “They weren’t naked,” he admits.

Zar perks up. “Who wasn’t naked?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Dean and Ash. When I went to Dean’s house this morning, Ash was there in his underwear.”

“So Ash, who is Dean’s friend, yes? Was in his house in his underwear? Am I understanding this correctly?” Zar asks, waving his coffee mug between Meg and Cas. “Just want to make sure I’m up to speed.”

“Yes, now you know what I know,” Meg snaps. She pulls another mug out of the cupboard and fills it with water from the kettle before setting it in front of Cas. She slaps a box of tea down on the counter with the other hand. “Now, would you shut up so I can figure out what the hell is going on?”

Zar raises one eyebrow then motions toward Cas with a _go-ahead_ gesture. He takes another sip of his coffee and settles back to listen.

“Ash had a job interview in Kansas City yesterday. He’s planning to move back and he wants to get back together with Dean. Dean swore that wouldn’t happen, but when I went to his house this morning, Ash was there. I saw him come from Dean’s bedroom in his boxers. They looked happy.” Cas pushes the words out in a rush to get them all out before he breaks down again. When he’s finished, he picks up his tea and takes a gulp, the steaming liquid burning his mouth.

“And what was his explanation?” Meg asks, eyes narrowed scarily.

Cas pauses. “I, well, I didn’t—”

 “You didn’t get an explanation. A guy walks out of your boyfriend’s bedroom in his underwear and you didn’t ask for an explanation?” Meg sighs.

Cas frowns. “I didn’t go in the house. I just saw them through the front window. They were in the kitchen.”

“They were _in flagrante delicto_ in the kitchen?” Zar asks with a raised brow.

“They looked like they were making breakfast. No _flagrante_.”

Meg takes a sip of her coffee, then leans against the counter next to Cas. “Look,” she says gently in the tone of voice she uses when she doesn’t think Cas wants to hear what she’s about to say. “I know I haven’t always been Winchester’s biggest fan, but he seems like he cares about you. Are you sure you saw what you think you saw? Maybe there’s an explanation.”

Cas shakes his head angrily and shoves away from the counter. “His ex-maybe-not-ex-boyfriend is in his kitchen at six o’clock in the morning, the day after said boyfriend has a job interview so he can move back to town and get back together with him, and you think there might be another explanation?”

“Cas.”

“No,” he barks. “I can’t, I just can’t do this anymore. I should have known better after Christmas. I should have seen that I would never be able to come between them. Maybe Dean didn’t lie, but he obviously can’t stay away. Michael, Raphael, Malachi, mom, now Dean. When am I going to learn that I don’t get the happy ending?”

“Cas,” she tries again.

He rubs one hand down over his face. Now that the tears are spent, anger is building up in their place. He’s just not sure if he’s angry at Dean or at himself. “You know what?” he says in a huff, dumping his mug in the sink suddenly. “I’m sorry I disturbed you. I’ll just let you get back to, you know, whatever,” he says, waving a jerky hand between them. He stalks to the front door and rips it open before Meg reaches him. She calls his name after him, but he’s in the car and slamming the door on the rest of her words.

He pulls out of the parking lot faster than he intended, pointing the car north away from Lawrence. Some distance is what he needs. Some distance between himself and his dreams, to give himself some time to figure out how to move forward now that everything he wanted to head toward is crashing around him.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe there's only three more chapters left. You'll notice I changed the chapter count to reflect that. Certainly a bittersweet day, lol.
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who took the time to read and/or comment on this. You're all amazing and I genuinely enjoy reading your comments. 
> 
> This is another bad one, but remember the night is darkest before the dawn. Sometimes it isn't what other people do to us, but what we do to ourselves.

Dean pours a second cup of coffee into a travel mug, then swallows the last of the cup in his hand. Though he managed to escape without a hangover, he’s not sure it’s going to matter to Bobby. A lukewarm shower this morning did nothing to revive him emotionally or physically. Once he got Ash set up on the couch, he tossed and turned the rest of the night, thoughts of the future competing with memories from the past.

Ben laughs at something Ash says and Dean glances over to where they’re sitting on the couch, heads bent together over one of Ben’s robots. As much as he has longed for Ash’s presence in the past, he can’t wait for him to be gone. Dean needs some distance from the bittersweet ache of the end of their relationship so that he can focus on moving forward.

He can’t stop himself from smiling at the thought of moving forward with Cas. He’s been dancing around his feelings for Cas and letting fear keep him from making the commitment he knows Cas needs. When he told Ash that he loves Cas, the words felt completely right, comfortable, and true. It seems silly that he went for so long without letting Cas hear them.

He reaches through the open door into the garage to press the button on the opener. From the information Bobby gave him, he isn’t too sure what kind of shape the old Plymouth is in or whether the owner might have tools in case they need to take a closer look. Better to load up his toolbox of hand tools than to drive clear to Herington and not be able to put together an estimate.

“I’m goin’ out through the garage,” he calls, gathering up his keys, phone, and a notebook. “Get your stuff and come out.”

Ash turns and gives Dean a thumbs up with a grin. He seems more himself this morning, less the broken man that stumbled through the front door in the middle of the night. The knot of anxiety in Dean’s chest loosens some more. Not being at odds with Ash has lifted a weight that had been crushing him. Dean smiles back.

Bobby is pulling up the driveway when Dean carries his toolbox out of the garage. Before California, Dean and Ash restored the old Chevelle that Bobby drives. Dean smiles with the memories that seem to involve less Ash working and more Ash sitting around reading comic books while Dean worked. Either way, they’re good memories.

“Toss ‘em in here and let’s get movin’,” Bobby mutters, unlocking the trunk. “Long ass drive to Herington.”

Dean sets the toolbox in the trunk and closes it with a thud. “Gotta wait for dad to pick up Ben.”

Just then, Ben and Ash come through the garage, Ben’s backpack slung over Ash’s shoulder. Bobby raises both eyebrows. “Got company, I see.” He doesn’t sound very pleased about it.

Dean glances up at Ben and Ash, then shakes his head. “Don’t,” he chastises. “It’s a long damn story that ain’t none of your business. He needed a place to stay last night, that’s all.”

Bobby looks Ash up and down reprovingly, then turns back to Dean. “And your boy Castiel was okay with you havin’ a sleepover?”

“It was kind of a last-minute thing,” Ash adds quietly without any of his usual cockiness. Though Bobby isn’t Ash’s father, he’s always treated Ash like a son. In a weird twist of fate, Ash gives Bobby way more respect than he ever did Bill Harvelle.

Bobby makes a noise that is halfway between acknowledgment and disapproval, but the awkward conversation is cut off when John pulls up the driveway. He gives Ash the same critical once-over that Bobby did when Dean asks if John can drop Ash off at Bobby and Ellen’s house, but he thankfully doesn’t comment other than to jerk his head at the truck. Ben gives Dean a hug before bouncing down the driveway.

“Thanks for keeping him today,” Dean says, eyes following to where Ash is buckling Ben into the truck.

“No problem,” he grunts. His eyes narrow as he follows Dean’s gaze. “You sure you know what you’re doin’?”

So much for him not commenting. Dean sighs. “Yes, sir,” he insists. “We worked it out. He’s stayin’ in California.” Dean never thought those words would bring a sense of relief.

John nods, one sharp jerk of his head, then clasps Dean on the shoulder. Dean isn’t sure why he expects his father to say more when heartfelt exchanges have never been common, but he’s a little surprised when John walks to the truck without another word. Ash raises his hand in a small salute as they back out of the driveway.   

Dean presses the button to put the garage door down and settles into the passenger seat. He sips his coffee as Bobby pulls out to start the two-hour drive to Herington. They’re not even on the highway yet when Dean pulls his phone out to text Cas.

_[You] 6:34AM: Good morning. :) How about dinner tonight at my place? Dad’s got Ben ;)_

Since Cas hasn’t been running in the mornings lately, he’s not sure whether he should expect an immediate reply or not. He waits for a few minutes, thumb moving restlessly over the dark face of the phone, then slides it back into his pocket with a sigh. Cas must be sleeping in again. As much as Dean hates running, he might try offering to go jogging with Cas. It would be worth it to erase that hollow look from Cas’ face.

Bobby grunts when Dean turns on the radio, turning the dial until he settles on his favorite classic rock channel. It will fade out once they get forty minutes outside of Lawrence, but at least it’s something to break the silence. Bobby isn’t exactly chatty.

Dean is glad that his dad could keep Ben overnight. While he’s thrilled that Cas loves Ben as much as he does, he doesn’t want any distractions. After everything Cas has been through, he deserves to have Dean’s undivided attention when Dean looks him in the eye and tells him that he loves him. Dean lets himself imagine the shocked joy on Cas’ face. The fear of not being what Cas needs is what has made him hold back and that is what made Cas doubt him. He can’t wait to show Cas that although he might be scared, he’s committed to their relationship.

“When you were thirteen,” Bobby says suddenly, startling Dean out of his thoughts. He reaches to turn the radio down. “Someone got into my cabinet and stole a box of .22 shells.”

Dean turns to stare at the side of Bobby’s head, but the older man doesn’t take his eyes off the road. He knows exactly the incident Bobby is talking about.

“When I found the spent shells in the junkyard, windows shot out of a dozen different cars, you stood right up beside Ash and took the punishment for it,” he continues. “Took you two all day to clean up the shells and the glass.”

Dean nods even though Bobby still isn’t looking at him. “Yes, sir,” he adds. “I remember.”

“Funny thing is, Judd Barton told me that you and Sam spent that mornin’ helpin’ him mend his fence. John said he dropped you boys off at eight, ‘fore the shells went missin’, and picked you up just a half hour before I found ‘em.” Bobby’s eyes flick to Dean quickly, then back to the road.

“Bobby,” Dean starts. He’s beginning to see where this is going. Bobby is right. Dean actually had nothing to do with the incident, but when Bobby and Bill called Ash into the garage to give him hell, there was no way Dean could let him go alone. That’s what a friend does.

Bobby shakes his head. “Don’t ‘Bobby’ me, boy. I knew you didn’t have nothin’ to do with it, but you spent your whole life standin’ up for him, takin’ responsibility for his screw ups, and cleanin’ up his messes.”

“He’s my best friend.”

Bobby lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Maybe so,” he concedes. “God knows I love that boy like he’s my own flesh and blood, same as you and Sam and Jo, but it’s ‘bout time you stop takin’ responsibility for cleanin’ up after him. After my Karen died, I thought I’d spend the rest of my life alone. It was a damn shame that it took losin’ Bill, but I lucked into a second chance with Ellen.”

Not that Bobby is verbose at the best of times, but he almost never talks about his first wife. They were young when they married, and almost as young when cancer took her from him. She’s eternally beautiful in the old picture Ellen keeps on the shelf in the living room. Dean knows well enough that when Bobby talks about Karen, you listen.

“You got a second chance here. Castiel is a good man and what you got is worth buildin’ on, but you gotta stop takin’ it on yourself to be responsible for Ash. He’s made his choices and you made yours. Time to let him take the consequences.” Bobby brings the car to a stop at a red light and turns to look fully at Dean. “Lettin’ him sleep on your couch when he’s too sauced to make it home counts as cleanin’ up his mess, boy.”

Dean screws up his lips. “How’d you know?”

Another gruff bark of laughter. “Same as always. I know you boys. Loyalty is a good thing, and I ain’t knockin’ it, but make sure you’re bein’ loyal to the right person. Much as I know his mama would be tickled for him to move home, it’s no shame that he’s decidin’ to stay in California.”

Never let it be said that the Winchester-Harvelle-Singer men are at all good at chick-flick moments. Vague allusions are about as close as Bobby is going to get to coming right out and weighing in on the Ash/Dean/Cas issue. Still, it feels good to know that the family that also includes Ash supports him. “Thanks, Bobby,” Dean offers genuinely.

Bobby grunts his acceptance and reaches to turn the radio back up, louder than it was before. Lou Gramm singing about longing for home effectively ends the conversation.

Dean finishes his coffee and plays with his phone the rest of the way to Herington. By the time they pull up in front of an old farmhouse off of a one-and-a-half lane dirt road on the outskirts, Cas still hasn’t texted him back. It’s just shy of nine a.m., so Dean settles for sending “Hope you’re enjoying sleeping in,” followed by a wish for him to have a good day. Now that he’s acknowledged his feelings to himself the words want to burst out of him, but he just turns off the phone and slides it into the pocket of his old black hoodie. He definitely doesn’t want the first time he tells Cas _I love you_ to be in a text.

The 1972 Plymouth Barracuda is in better shape than Dean was expecting for a barn-car. Daryl, the young man who owns it, tells stories about his father the entire time Dean is climbing over and under the car looking for rust, frame damage, or other issues that will make the rebuild more difficult. When his hood gets caught on the frame, he pulls the jacket off and throws it to Bobby. May in Kansas isn’t exactly a heatwave, but being a little cold is better than being strangled by his own outerwear.

All in all, the car is in decent shape. Dean jots information about the car down in the notebook, then asks Daryl what he’d like to see upgraded versus restored. By the time they’re back on the road barely an hour has passed and Dean has verbal confirmation of another job. Bobby made arrangements to send a couple guys out with the rollback to help Dean get the car on Thursday. All those years he dreamed of restoring cars rather than just changing oil and busting tires and now it’s a reality. It’s just one more thing he owes Cas.

Dean tosses the notebook onto the floor as Bobby takes the two-lane blacktop back out of town toward to the highway. There’s a pleasant, happy feeling fluttering in his chest when he thinks about getting home and making his way to Cas’. He can’t wait to share the good news.

They drive for a while, nothing but farmland and the occasional house zipping past the car windows. Thinking that maybe Cas responded to his text, Dean reaches to dig his phone out of his pocket, only to realize that it is still in his hoodie. He twists and reaches to where Bobby threw it on the backseat, the sleeve slapping Bobby on the side of the head as he pulls it between the seats.

“You tryin’ to wreck us, boy?” Bobby grouses but Dean just bites back a smile.

He finally digs the phone out and swipes it open, the notifications in the corner showing both a missed call and a text, but no voicemail. It takes him a moment to realize that both are from Meg. A cold feeling of dread settles over him instantly. While he and Meg may not be actively hostile towards each other anymore, they certainly aren’t BFFs who text or call each other. If Meg is calling him, it’s because something is wrong with Cas. He opens the text with only slightly shaking hands.

**[Meg] 9:23AM: Pull your head out of your ass and call me**

A million possible scenarios, none of them good, flit through his head. He stares at the message for so long that Bobby looks over at him quizzically. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Dean shakes his head and punches the call button, trying desperately to quell the nauseous feeling roiling in his gut. It only rings twice before Meg picks up.

“Thank fuck,” she growls. “Don’t you ever answer your fucking phone?”

“I was flat on my back under a car, Meg. What’s wrong?”

There’s a soft sigh and a pause that is long enough that it ratchets Dean’s anxiety higher. “Can I assume you haven’t talked to Castiel today?”

“I texted him earlier about having dinner but he hasn’t responded. Is something wrong? Is he okay?” Dean lets panic seep into his voice, ignoring the way Bobby glances over at him worriedly. 

“I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here,” she warns, her voice a low growl. “I swear to God, Winchester, if my faith in you is misplaced, I will hurt you in ways that will make you wish you were dead.”

“What the fuck, Meg? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Cas brought breakfast to your house this morning.”  There’s a pause while she lets her words sink in. “He saw Ash,” she adds unnecessarily because Dean has already put it together. He thinks about asking Bobby to pull over so that he can vomit in the barren field along the road.

“Fuck,” he curses vehemently. “Nothing happened, Meg. I swear. He showed up drunk last night and we had it out. He’s staying in California. I would never—”

“If you’re lying to me—”

“I’m not,” Dean barks. “I love him, Meg, I would never hurt him like that. Fuck. Is he with you?”

“He was here earlier, but he ran out when I suggested that things might not be what they appeared.”

Dean sucks in a shaky breath. “Thanks.”

“I’m not doing this for you, asshole. He’s nine kinds of fucked up right now and I’m trusting you to make this right. Don’t let me down here, Dean-o.”

“I promise,” he breathes. “I promise, Meg. I gotta call him.”

“Go.” The phone cuts off unceremoniously.

Dean takes a deep breath, resting his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He continues to breathe, deep gasping breaths that feel just shy of hyperventilating. The air does nothing to calm his dizziness or the crippling nausea that keeps threatening to overwhelm him. He puts the window down, wondering how pissed Bobby would be if he puked on the side of his car.

“You gonna call him or do you need a few more minutes to freak the fuck out?”

Dean jerks his head around to stare at Bobby. It’s not that Bobby never swears, but the f-word is reserved for when he’s well and truly pissed. He doesn’t look angry, but the way his eyebrows pull together suggests that he is less than pleased. Even hearing only Dean’s side of the conversation was more than enough for Bobby to figure out what was going on.

“Nothing happened,” Dean says weakly.

“I know, son, but I ain’t the one you gotta answer to.”

Dean’s hands are shaking when he pulls up Cas’ contact. It rings and rings, every empty electronic sound drilling into Dean’s chest. When Cas’ greeting comes on, the sound of his deep gravelly voice almost brings Dean to tears.

“Cas, call me. Please. I know what you’re probably thinkin’, but I swear nothing happened. We just talked. Just, dammit, call me. I can’t, Cas, I can’t do this without you. You gotta give me a chance to explain.” The automated voice comes on to ask if he’s happy with his message or if he’d like to erase and record again. Dean hangs up and buries his head in his hands, willing his breathing to slow before he gets light-headed.

 “You need me to stop?” Bobby asks gruffly.

Dean shakes his head weakly, then dials Meg’s number again. “He’s not pickin’ up,” he says when she answers. “I just need to know he’s okay until I get there.”

“Give me a moment,” she snaps, then hangs up. Dean lowers the phone to his lap and stares at it until it goes dark.

“What am I gonna do?” Dean asks miserably.

“First, you’re gonna stop whatever the hell it is you’re doin’ right now, ‘cause it’s not helpin’ anyone. We’ll get back and you’ll go over there and explain. That boy is crazy ‘bout you and Ben. Any fool can see it. Not sayin’ it didn’t look bad, but he’s overreactin’.”

“What if he doesn’t believe me?” Dean asks, his stomach twisted into a sick knot.

Bobby grunts. “Then he ain’t as smart as he seems.”

His phone lights up with a text message.

**[Meg] 10:17AM: He’s at home. Don’t fuck this up.**

He opens the menu to send his thanks when another message comes in.

**[Meg] 10:18AM: There’s a key behind the loose brick to the left of the garage door. Don’t say I never gave you anything.**

Dean calls Cas again, but when it goes to voicemail he just hangs up and drops the phone in his lap. It fucking figures. Just when things seem like they are going to work out, when he finally has everything he needs to be happy, it all goes to shit again. He should know better.

Though he’s not really sure how, he manages to keep Bobby from shoving his ass out of the car along the highway. Maybe the old man just feels sorry for him, but he doesn’t even complain when Dean cranks the radio up in an attempt to distract himself. It works until _Stairway to Heaven_ comes on, then Dean resolutely turns it off.

He thinks about making a third call but stops when Bobby gives him a look. “If he ain't picked up yet, don’t think he’s going to, son.” Dean doesn’t respond, but he puts the phone back into his pocket. It’s the longest hour and a half of his entire life.

Bobby drops him off at his house and waits while Dean carries the tool box into the garage. He doesn’t offer any platitudes, which Dean is grateful for, but he does slap Dean on the back as he’s getting in Baby. “Good luck, son,” he offers gravely. Dean appreciates the sentiment.

Cas’ house looks like it always does. Spring flowers are blooming around the mailbox and lining the driveway, a riot of colors that seem to mock Dean with their cheer. He pounds on the front door, calling Cas’ name, but there’s no answer. He’s honestly not surprised.

It only takes him a moment to find the right brick and pull the key out of its hiding place. He hesitates at the door. It doesn’t feel right to violate Cas’ privacy like this. He pulls out his phone to text Meg instead.

_[You] 12:23PM: He’s not answering. Are you sure he’s here?_

**[Meg] 12:25PM: Did you use the key?**

_[You] 12:25PM: I’m not sure I should just walk in_

**[Meg] 12:26PM: Did I tell you to use the key?**

_[You] 12:26PM: Yes_

**[Meg] 12:28PM: Then use the fucking key**

Dean puts the phone in his pocket without answering, then knocks again. “Cas, come on, man. Open up. We need to talk. Please.”

There’s no sound, not even the echo of Juliet barking. He carefully fits the key in the door and opens it. The kitchen and living room are empty, but he follows the sound of music coming from the studio. Cas is listening to something loud and heavy, a man growling something that sounds like German over the discordant guitars. Dean stops in the doorway.

Cas is sitting at the table dressed only in a pair of dark gray yoga pants. He’s facing the French doors so that his back is to Dean. The thick black lines of his tribal wings are a sharp contrast to his pale skin. Juliet lays at his feet, her head resting against his ankle.

Dean watches as he picks up a three-quarter full bottle of Johnnie Walker from the table and tips it back to drink straight from the bottle, muscles shifting in his shoulders. His heart threatens to beat out of his chest. Cas doesn’t drink, hasn’t drunk since, fuck, since whatever the hell happened between him and Michael. The gravity of the situation hits Dean with the force of a Mack truck.

He takes another step into the room, finally getting Juliet’s attention. She looks up and whines softly, but doesn’t jump up to greet him like she normally would, so he takes a few more steps in quick succession so that he’s barely five feet away when Cas finally turns in the chair.

Eyes rimmed red and puffy as if he’s been crying and bloodshot with alcohol he no longer has a tolerance for, Cas looks worse than he did even at his mother’s funeral. His hair is crazier than usual, sticking out in all directions as if he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. “What are you doing here, Dean?” he mumbles as if speaking is too much of an effort. Dean can barely hear him over the music.

Dean clears his throat before moving forward to sit down across the table from Cas. “I needed to see if you were okay.” He reaches for the remote control to the sound system and turns the volume down.

Cas laughs, an ugly, grating sound, and swallows another mouthful of whiskey.

“You should probably slow down on that stuff,” Dean says, reaching to take the bottle out of Cas’ hand. He expects a fight, but Cas lets it go easily, falling back against the chair with a huff. Dean thinks about taking a pull from the bottle himself but decides against it for once. He sets the bottle on the table out of Cas’ reach.

“Nothing happened, Cas.”

The sound Cas makes isn’t anywhere near a laugh this time. “He was in your house,” he says harshly, “in his underwear, coming from your bedroom.”

Dean groans and runs one hand down over his face. Jesus, when he puts it that way— “He wasn’t in my bedroom. He was in the bathroom. I know it looks bad, but you gotta believe me. He showed up in the middle of the night drunk off his ass. I swear he slept on the couch. It’s over between us.”

Cas scoffs. “Like it was over at Christmas?”

“It’s not the same. You and I weren’t together at Christmas.”

Cas swallows hard, his eyes darting to the bottle of whiskey. “You don’t deny that you slept with him after you said it was over between you.” His voice cracks at the end, twisting at Dean’s heart.

“I’m not denying it.” He wishes he could, wishes he could say that Ash has never had any kind of hold over him. “But this isn’t Christmas. He’s not taking the job, Cas. He knows that there’s nothing here for him anymore because he knows that I’m in love with you.”

He hadn’t meant it to come out like that, but now that the words are out he wouldn’t take them back even if he could. Cas whimpers, a sound that is halfway between pain and misery, but when he turns to look at Dean, his eyes are cold. “How dare you use that to manipulate me, Dean,” he growls, pushing away from the table. He teeters a little when he stands up and Dean just barely stops himself from rushing to his side. Cas starts to pace back and forth in front of the double doors, the early afternoon sun highlighting the planes and hollows of his face. “I love you so much and I thought you felt the same, but I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I do love you, Cas. I love you so fucking much.”

Cas whirls to give him an impassive look. “More than you love Ash?”

“More than I have ever loved Ash,” Dean answers without hesitation. “Please, Cas. I would never do that to you. I’m not a cheater.”

Cas squeezes his eyes tightly shut, chin quivering. “I don’t know if I can do this; if I can live with the specter of Ash constantly hanging over our relationship. He’s not just an ex. He’s part of your family. He’s not just going to go away.” He opens his eyes and tears glisten, threatening to spill over. “I believe you, Dean, that nothing happened, but I know that he wanted it to. What if he decides that he wants to try again?”

“I’ll tell him the same thing I told him this time,” Dean asserts. “I love you and there’s nothing that is going to change that. Please, baby, don’t do this.”

When a fat tear rolls down Cas’ cheek, Dean feels like his heart is breaking.  “What if someday you decide you don’t want me anymore? It will kill me, Dean.”

Dean is on his feet, gathering Cas against his chest before he registers that he’s moving. Cas is stiff with tension at first, but after a moment, he relaxes against Dean. Short, sharp gasps shake his body. “That is never going to happen,” Dean insists, stroking one hand down Cas’ back. “You’re it for me. Me, you, and Ben; we’re a family and family is the most important thing in the world to me. It doesn’t matter what Ash wants because I want you.”

Cas pulls away and Dean raises his hands to cup his cheeks, thumbs wiping the wet trails away. They stay like that, Dean gently soothing him, coaxing him. The heavy, suffocating vice that has been wrapped around his chest for the last two hours starts to ease, until Dean leans in to kiss him and Cas twists away, stepping out of his arms and putting several feet between them.

“I love you so much, Dean,” Cas says, his voice small.

“I love you, too.”

Cas locks his jaw and looks away. “I need some time to think.” He raises both hands to scrub down his face. “Just some time.”

Dean starts to argue, but something in Cas’ expression stops him. “Time,” he echoes, and even though his heart is breaking, he relents. If this is what Cas needs, he can give it to him. “Okay, fine, I can give you time, but I’m not going anywhere, Cas. This isn’t over. We’re never going to be over.”

Cas nods, throat working. He takes a step forward, his hands twitching as if he’s going to grab for Dean, but then stops himself. He looks lost and it destroys Dean all over again that he had anything to do with making Cas look like that.

Before he reaches for Cas himself, he forces himself to walk around the table to pick up the bottle of whiskey. He replaces the cap, the bottle a familiar weight in his hand. “This isn’t going to help you think, Cas. Take it from someone that knows,” he says, brandishing the bottle, “this is not the way to go.”

Another small nod and this time Cas looks abashed.

“I’m not walking away from you. You know right where I’ll be when you’re ready. We’re going to be so happy together, baby,” Dean implores softly. “I just need you to let me show you.”

Walking away, out of the studio, and through the front door is the hardest thing Dean has ever done, and Dean’s life has thrown a lot of hard things his way. He locks the door behind him and replaces the key behind the loose brick before climbing into the car. He pulls out his phone and sends a text to Meg.

_[You] 1:06PM: Take care of him for me._

* * *

* * *

The air isn’t as brisk at six o’clock in the morning as he remembers. Cas unzips his windbreaker and lets Juliet fall into an easy stride beside him. It’s been weeks since he’s run and he can tell. His body seems awkward with the movements at first, his muscles protesting in their disuse, and he gets winded much earlier than he would have in the past.

He forces his breathing into the steady, repetitive pattern he uses for running and tries to focus on the way the pavement feels under his feet. It’s been just over two days since Dean walked out the front door of his house and that is entirely the thing that he’s trying not to think about.

He sighs as deeply as he can while still maintaining his pace. His thoughts are no clearer now than they were two days ago. He vacillates constantly between missing Dean so much that it feels like a limb has been amputated and paralyzing fear that loving Dean will end in heartbreak eventually anyway. _Better to control the situation now than to let it overwhelm me_ , he tells himself.

It doesn’t stop the ache, though, the overwhelming, gut-wrenching pull of knowing that Dean is just a few blocks away. There are moments when the phone is in his hand and he’s typing out a text to Dean before he even realizes what he’s doing. How did he become so entrenched in Cas’ life so quickly? It’s like Michael all over again. He has always thrown himself in feet first and look how it has turned out.

Cas and Juliet turn the corner and start down Lyon Street. The loop back around to his house is less than two miles, but he doesn’t want to push too hard on his first time after so long. They approach the park from the north side, but when Cas spots the swings, the memory of meeting Dean and Ben there at the beginning of the school year flashes through his mind.

So much has changed since then, not just for him, but for Dean and Ben as well. Ben is doing better than Cas’ greatest expectations. The boy is like a sponge, taking in everything Cas has been trying to teach him. Though meltdowns still occur, they’re much less common and don’t escalate to the point that they did before.

The sense of accomplishment Cas feels when he thinks about Ben is overshadowed by his pure love for the child. He’s always proud when a student succeeds, but the delight he feels at Ben’s success runs deeper than that. He imagines it is more like the pleasure a parent feels when they see their child thrive.

Despite his confusion about his relationship with Dean, it’s hard not to remember that Ben is a big part of his life as well. In less than two hours, he’ll walk into a classroom with Ben as if nothing is wrong. He wonders if Dean has told Ben anything or whether Ben has even noticed Cas’ absence from their lives. He swallows a gulp of air at the thought of Ben not caring whether Cas is part of their lives or not, the burn making him cough and sputter until he gets his breathing under control again.

Walking away from Dean means walking away from Ben, too. Cas slows to a walk, tugging on the leash to keep Juliet from darting ahead. He’s not even a mile into the route, but he’s lost the motivation to run. He turns down the road next to the park and heads for home.

There are no lights on in the classroom when Cas arrives, but that’s not unusual. He’s usually the first one there. He turns on the computers and is raising the blinds when Meg and Becky arrive.

“Is there anything you need me to do today, Castiel?” Becky asks, tugging a loop of elastic from her wrist and pulling her long hair up into a ponytail.

“Could you get out the materials for the butterflies?” he asks, using the distraction to avoid looking at Meg. While Meg hasn’t come right out and said that she thinks Cas is being stupid, the tone of her text messages and their one phone call certainly leans in that direction. It’s easy for Meg to judge when she’s never let anyone get close enough to hurt her. As far as Cas knows, Meg’s longest relationship has been with Balthazar.

Becky scurries to the back of the room to start pulling art supplies out of the cabinet while Cas continues to ignore Meg. She pulls her planner out of the desk and looks over the list of which students might need more support than usual today. He pulls his own files from his bag and is spreading them out on the desk when she looks up at him and mutters, “You look like hell.”

Cas rolls his eyes internally, only because he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction. “Thank you, Meg.”

Meg has no such qualms and rolls her eyes hard enough that he’s worried she might actually strain something. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

He thinks about lying and telling her he slept like a baby, but the worry behind her eyes stops him. “A little bit,” he admits with a sigh. “I know you think I’m being ridiculous—”

“Absurd, preposterous, and ludicrous would also work.”

“Meg.” He puts the folders back into a pile and shoves them into the desk drawer. “I just need some time to think about this.” _Time to make sure I’m okay with having my heart broken_ , he doesn’t add.

She scoffs quietly. “The problem is that you think too much, Clarence. He loves you, you love him. It’s that simple.”

“Is it?” he asks, cocking one eyebrow.

“It is.”

“I never took you for a romantic, Meg.”

She slams her planner shut and clips it to the front of her clipboard. “I’m not,” she snaps, “but you are. Especially when you’re not getting stuck in that big fat head of yours. There are no guarantees, Cas. The whole damn thing is a crapshoot and while you’re trying to calculate the risk, you’re making yourself and him miserable.”

Cas closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You haven’t seen them together.”

“No, but I have seen you and him together, and even though it was under the worst possible circumstances, I haven’t seen you that comfortable with someone since,” she pauses as if she is unsure whether to continue, then sighs, “since Michael.”

That’s the rub, isn’t it? The last fifteen years have been a winding road that always ends up right back at Michael. Maybe he’s not as afraid of Dean hurting him as he is of him hurting Dean. The pain in Michael’s gray eyes when Cas turned away and walked out the door still haunts him. “I just need to be sure,” he chokes out.

Meg shakes her head. “Don’t take so long to be sure that you end up losing him,” she says softly before walking out the door.

The morning goes by quickly and Cas doesn’t see Ben until the resource period just before lunch. The occupational therapist has sensory centers set up around the room, including several that include strong odors. Ben wrinkles his nose as soon as he walks in the room, but to his credit, he doesn’t balk when Bela leads him to the first center.

The children rotate through the centers and Ben grouses at some of the more astringent smells.  Meg has to pull him aside to talk him down, but he makes it through without a meltdown. As Bela is packing up her materials, Cas encourages the children to say goodbye. “This is Ms. Talbot’s last day with us since school will be out in just one more week. Those of you who are coming to summer school will see her there, but the rest of us won’t see her until next year.”

Cas taught summer school his first two years in Lawrence, but it had quickly become too much to handle. Although he enjoys the children immensely, he needs that time over the summer to recharge so that he can come back refreshed in the fall. He knows that Dean has signed Ben up for the part-time program, along with a recreational program at the park, but these last few days could very well be Cas’ last chance to see Ben until next school year. His heart twists painfully.

“Are you coming to the cookout?” Ben asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Cas startles and looks down at him. “What?”

“Grandma Ellen and Uncle Bobby are having a cookout next weekend. I asked daddy. He said he didn’t know if you were coming, but that’s silly because you wouldn’t miss my graduation party, right?” His eyes are wide, and so much like Dean’s that Cas can’t look away.

Cas’ throat tightens and he barely forces out, “I’ll have to see, Ben. I certainly don’t want to miss your graduation party,” before tears threaten to overwhelm him.

Meg appears at his side. “Ben, why don’t you go help Justin with his computer game until it’s time to go back to class,” she says brightly. She turns to Cas as soon as Ben bounces across the classroom and narrows her eyes. “You need to pull yourself together,” she snaps, then sighs wearily. “Cas, why are you doing this to yourself?”

“You know why,” he whispers, still struggling to keep a rein on his emotions.

“I know why you think you need to.”

“Losing Michael almost killed me, Meg. Literally. You were in the hospital when I woke up. I can’t face that kind of pain again,” he chokes out, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Meg lays one hand on his arm. “Okay, okay. Go to the bathroom and calm down. This isn’t the place.”  Cas nods sharply, covering his face with one hand and escaping through the open classroom door.

Thankfully the rest of the day goes more smoothly. Although he sees Ben in the hallway, they don’t talk again. One more day closer to the end of the school year.

He walks home from school that afternoon, the warm breeze playing with his hair. He runs one hand through it. It’s getting long; maybe he should cut it. He’s thinking about asking Meg to trim it when his phone lets out a little jingle in his pocket. He doesn’t remember turning the sound on, but the notification makes him smile anyway. Meg still looked worried when he walked out, so she’s probably just checking up on him.

**[Dean] 3:56PM: I know I said I would give you space, but I miss you. That’s all.**

Cas bites the inside of his cheek to stave off the sound of distress that bubbles up. Missing Dean isn’t even a question. He misses Dean like he would miss losing a part of himself. Maybe having Dean is worth the risk of pain in the future, as long as he doesn’t have to feel like this now, but he’s just so confused.

He laid awake most of the night because every time he closed his eyes, he remembered waking up in that hospital bed, tubes up his nose and down his throat, and Meg curled up in the chair next to him. Maybe he and Dean would be happy, but at what cost? He has no one to blame except himself for losing Michael, but the fear of Dean eventually seeing that Cas is just a stand in for Ash is paralyzing. He pushes his phone into his pocket without answering and lets himself into the house.

Seeing Ben every day doesn’t become any less painful, but at least Cas keeps himself in check. There are no more breakdowns in the classroom. Instead, the collapse occurs every day when he gets a single text from Dean. They’re always one line, usually only a few words. _I miss you._ _I love you._ _Hope you’re having a good day._

His spirits lift every time he sees Dean’s name on the front of his phone, but it is always followed by crippling fear at how much a few words means to him. He takes to wearing one of the rubber bracelets again and snapping it every time he thinks about texting Dean back. The sting feels a hundred times worse after not feeling it for so long.

By the time Friday arrives, Cas is barely holding on by a thread. One full week, the longest he’s gone without talking to Dean in almost five months. He survived, but it doesn’t really feel like an accomplishment. He’s not sure whether he’s looking forward to the next two days or dreading them.

Cas dumps a cup of food into Juliet’s dish before heading to the closet to strip out of his work clothes. He pulls on sweat pants and a t-shirt, telling himself that he can lounge around all weekend if he wants. After that first disastrous start, he’s managed to work himself back up to just over three miles every morning before work. He feels better physically than he has in weeks, though he’s still mentally and emotionally drained.

He wanders back out to the kitchen and pulls open the refrigerator in the hopes that he missed some item of food that won’t require much prep. He’s gotten better at cooking under Dean’s tutelage, but the thought of preparing a meal tonight is exhausting. He’s pulling a container of soup from the freezer, resolutely ignoring the fact that Dean made it when his phone goes off.

**[Dean] 5:03PM: Bobby and Ellen are having a cookout next Sunday to celebrate Ben’s graduation from kindergarten. You’re welcome to come no matter where you and I stand. I don’t want to pull the Ben card, but he’ll be disappointed if you’re not there.**

Cas swallows thickly, thumb tracing the contours of Dean’s face in the contact picture he assigned. It’s a close-up of Dean sitting on the couch, the glow of the television playing over his cheek in profile. There was a part of him that expected Dean to mention Ben before this, to use his fondness for the boy to draw Cas in and make him feel guilty. It’s a testament, he supposes, to Dean’s character that he hasn’t done that. This is the first time he has mentioned Ben at all.

The sharp sting of the rubber band on his wrist does nothing to help. He taps the reply icon to bring up the on-screen keyboard. His thumb hovers over the letters, not sure what he even wants to say. Missing Ben’s party seem indefensible, but he’s not sure he can go when he’s still so confused. He’s not even sure if Ash will be there. Has he gone back to California yet? Dean never mentioned how long he was going to be in town. Would seeing them together again provide any more closure to his doubts than he already has? Dean always acts like he has Ash under control, but it’s clear from Saturday night that he doesn’t.

He starts to tap out a reply, getting _I’m not_ down when there’s a knock on the front door. Juliet abandons her food dish to run to the door, dancing excitedly until Cas pushes her aside to pull the door open. Meg and Zar stand on the front stoop laden down with grocery bags and two bottles of wine. Cas doesn’t even argue, just rolls his eyes and steps back so they can enter.

“You look like shit, Cassie,” Zar announces, depositing the bags on the kitchen counter before putting one of the bottles of wine in the fridge. He pulls the corkscrew out of the drawer to open the second bottle.

“Thanks, Zar. It’s a new look I’m trying out,” Cas returns dryly, earning a huff of laughter from Meg.

“Well, you’re pulling it off smashingly, darling. The dark circles really bring out the blue in your eyes.”

“You’re an asshole, Zar,” Cas retorts while beginning to unpack the groceries without Meg asking. A pound of shrimp, flaked coconut, and all the ingredients for a spinach-pomegranate salad. If Meg is going for comfort food, she has missed the mark a little.

Zar just shrugs nonchalantly and moves in to start arranging the ingredients on the counter for Meg. He pulls pans out of the cupboards and starts the oil to heat on the stove to fry the shrimp. Watching them move together in the small space, it’s impossible not to see how close they’ve become.

“So, are you two a couple now? Am I supposed to buy you joint gifts?” Cas asks testily. He scoots around them to pull three wine glasses from the cupboard, ignoring the way Meg’s eyebrows shoot up. He pours three glasses and returns to the other side of the island with his.

Zar looks at the glass in Cas’ hand, then shrugs again. “Hmmm, only if they’re sexy gifts, I suppose.” He grunts when Meg elbows him in the stomach.

“I’m keeping him around until he pisses me off,” Meg says, coating a handful of shrimp in the coconut batter before turning to the stove. “Make yourself useful and put the salad together.” It’s unclear which of them she’s talking to, so they both grab a few ingredients and get started.

Cas sips his wine while he works, resolutely ignoring the sideways glances Meg throws him. After the fourth one, Cas huffs impatiently. “I’m not a child, Meg. I can have a glass of wine.”

“I never said you couldn’t. Forgive me, though, if I think it’s a little odd that you’re having a glass of wine after fifteen years of complete sobriety. If I’m going to be called to the ER sometime soon, I should update my contact information in your medical records.”

“Fuck off, Meg,” Cas growls and downs the rest of the glass out of spite.

Zar steps between them, hands raised. “I think that’s quite enough, Castiel. She’s worried about you. We both are.”

“You can fuck off too, Zar.”

“That’s it,” Meg snaps, slamming one hand down on the island so hard that the batter-covered fork flips off the counter onto the floor. Juliet is quick to clean it up for her. “If pushing away the people who care about you is what you’re into these days, you’re just going to have to get the fuck over yourself. I can’t stop you from pushing Dean away, but I can damn well stop you from doing it to us.”

Cas glares at her through narrowed eyes. “For months you hated him. After Christmas, you threatened him with bodily harm more than once.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “I threatened Zar with bodily harm twenty-five minutes ago.”

“So why are you suddenly on Dean’s side?” he continues as if she hadn’t spoken.

Meg busies herself dropping another half-dozen shrimp into the oil, poking them until they are golden brown. She pulls them out with a slotted spoon, then turns back to him. “I’m not on Dean’s side. I’m on your side, you dumbass. As always. This isn’t about who’s right and who’s wrong, this is about you making yourself miserable for no reason. I’m tired of watching you do this to yourself.”

Shoulders stiff, Cas reaches for the wine bottle, but Zar pulls it away. “Give me the bottle, Zar,” Cas growls. When Zar glances over at Meg, as if he’s asking permission, Cas lunges across the island and snatches the bottle out of his hand. He pours another glass, movements jerky, before calmly handing the bottle back, eyes challenging Zar to say something. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, turning his gaze back to Meg, who watched the whole display with thinned lips.

She turns back to the stove and fries the last batch of shrimp, her posture rigid with barely contained anger. As soon as they are draining on a pile of paper towels, she turns off the burner with a jerk and rounds on Castiel. “You know what? I’m one-hundred percent done with this. You don’t know what I mean? Well, I’ll tell you what I mean,” she barks, stalking around the island until she’s in his face. Since he’s still sitting on the bar stool, they are almost eye-to-eye and it’s a little intimidating. “This is what you do when you’re scared, Clarence. You cut and run.”

“No, I don’t,” he grounds out, even though he knows, deep down, that she’s absolutely right.

“Michael got too close and you ran. You ran so hard that you ran straight into the bottom of a bottle. He fucked up when he started talking about kids and settling down and it scared you. Instead of talking to him, you burned it all down, and now you’re doing the same thing with Dean.”

“He and Ash—”

“Fuck Ash,” Meg growls, shoving one finger into his chest painfully. “This isn’t about Ash and you know it. You’ve been waiting for Dean to mess up so that you could justify pushing him away too. It’s what you do.”

“I’ve had other relationships—”

“That’s a bunch of bullshit and you know it. Raphael was more like a business arrangement than a relationship. It was like you just went down through a checklist and ordered a real boy out of a catalog. You chose him because you knew he couldn’t really touch you. There would never be anything to be afraid of.”

Cas wants to argue with her, to tell her that he loved Raphael. After all, they were together for two years and they lived together for one of them. He wouldn’t have stayed with Raphael if he didn’t love him. Cas swallows down the words because he knows that if he really loved Raphael he would have tried harder to make it work at the end.

“And Malachi wasn’t capable of having a relationship with anyone but himself,” she adds, more than a little cruelly. Cas gasps. He remembers Malachi standing right where Meg is, hand balled into a fist, and Malachi slouching insolently when he confronted Cas at the gallery. No, their relationship was never about Cas at all.

Balthazar hasn’t said anything since Meg’s tirade started, but he’s leaning against the counter watching them calmly. Cas’ eyes flick to him, then back to Meg, remembering that last time Zar had dared to bring up Malachi.

“I get it. Your family was fucked up, but you have to decide to stop letting them define you. You ran from your father, you ran from Michael, and now you’re running from Dean. Stop it and stand up for what you want.” She takes his wrist and smooths her fingers over the red marks raised under the band. “I can’t stand watching you do this to yourself.”

Cas bites back a sob before it can escape. “I’m scared,” he admits in a small voice.

Meg glances over at Zar before settling herself against Cas’ chest, arms wrapped around his waist. She laughs softly. “I know how you feel. Do you think I wanted this asshole?”

“Hey,” Zar protests with a grin.

“He’s dragging me kicking and screaming and I’m scared to death of it, of him.” She turns to look at Zar again, and there’s more emotion in her eyes than Cas has ever seen directed at someone who wasn’t him or her family.

“Getting past the thorns is the easy part,” Zar observes, pushing himself away from the counter. “The hard part is figuring out how to keep her from kicking you back out once you get in.” He steps up behind Meg and slides his arms around both of them.

Cas lets his head fall forward until he’s cradled against Meg, Zar holding them both up. The clock on the mantle ticks and Cas thinks about how to not be scared. He’s been afraid for so long, afraid of losing himself, afraid of getting hurt, that he’s not sure he knows how.

“Thanks,” he murmurs against Meg’s cheek, brushing a kiss into her hairline. He glances up at Zar, who just nods in return.

“I don’t know about you two,” Zar says, stepping back, “but I’m starving.” He picks up the bottle and pours three more glasses of wine. “Let’s eat.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to figure out where to split this chapter was a bitch. I'd say I'm sorry for where I ended it, but I'm actually not. :)

Dean’s t-shirt, sweated through from a long day at work, makes a swooshing sound when it hits the hamper. Pants, socks, and underwear follow closely behind, all damp and disgusting. Though the jumpsuits Bobby insists on at the garage are good for keeping his clothes clean, they’re like an oven when the temperature outside gets above seventy-five. One of these days, Dean is going to talk the old man into installing air conditioning in the shop.

He steps into the already running shower. The water is cool against his clammy skin, but he just needs a quick rinse so that he at least feels partially human. School has only been out for three days, but summer has hit hard. The last report he heard predicted temperatures in the low eighties by the end of next week. There are a lot of cool showers in his future

The tinny sound of the television program Ben is watching in the living room filters through the door as Dean steps out of the shower and dries himself off. He pulls on fresh clothes; glad that they don’t stick to him. A harsh yawn escapes and Dean stops before pulling the door open to press the heels of his hands against his eyes.

It’s been two weeks since he’s had a solid night of sleep; since he hasn’t stared at the ceiling for hours while wondering what Cas was doing. He eventually drops off, unable to fight the exhaustion, but not before his mind tortures him with the possibility that Cas may never come back to him. He’s inordinately proud that he hasn’t taken to drinking himself to sleep, but he probably has his sense of responsibility toward Ben to thank for that more than his own fortitude.

Dean lets his forehead rest against the door and takes a few deep breaths. He tells himself every day that Cas will come to his senses, and that if he doesn’t, well, they survived just fine without him before. It’s an easier thought to hold on to when he’s busy or when he has to put on a happy face for Ben, but there are nights after the house is quiet and he sees nothing in his future besides endless loneliness, that he feels like he’s slowly suffocating.

Strangely, Meg has been a lifeline for him. Though she’s still her snarky, bitchy self, she feeds Dean information about how Cas is doing and reminds him that he needs to outlast Cas’ stubbornness. While Dean is usually the one texting her for updates, she occasionally reaches out as if she somehow knows that he is struggling particularly hard that day.

Somewhere along the line, he’s even ended up with Balthazar’s number in his phone. While neither Gabriel nor Kali have contacted him, Meg reported that they are talking about flying out to ‘give Cas a kick in the ass,’ as she put it. Knowing that even Cas’ family and friends are pulling for him makes Dean feel marginally better, but it’s still no guarantee that Cas will come around.

Letting himself have one last deep breath, Dean pushes away from the door and pulls it open. He’s not a teenage girl hiding in the bathroom, crying over some boy. He’s a grown man with a son to raise and no amount of heartbreak takes precedence over that.

He starts down the hall, glad that they have leftovers in the fridge because cooking is the last thing he feels like doing tonight. He’s passing Ben’s room when a sudden, violent pain shoots through his foot. “Son of a bitch!” Dean yelps, quickly jumping back. His eyes easily find the offending bright red Lego brick, lying in the hallway like a miniature IED.

“Benjamin Braedon Winchester, what have I told you about these goddamn Legos!” Dean yells, hobbling the rest of the way down the hallway. “If you can’t keep them off the damn floor, I’m going to throw every last one of them away.”

Something like a whine comes from the couch, then the sound of running feet before the cabinet doors clack shut. It’s been months since Ben has hidden under the coffee table. He thought they were over that. With a ragged sigh, Dean stalks into the living room and crouches down, resolutely ignore the little voice in his head reminding him that it has also been months since he’s yelled at Ben like that. The exhaustion, mental now just as much as physical, hits him even harder and he swallows hard around the lump in his throat.

He pulls the door open and reaches inside, forcing his hand not to shake. “I’m sorry I yelled, Ben. Can you come out of there please?”

Ben sniffles softly, but he doesn’t flinch when Dean puts his hand on his leg. “Come on, Ben. Let’s go. Come on out,” Dean coaxes, pitching his voice much more gently than he feels.

“Scared.” The word is murmured so softly that Dean almost misses it, but it cuts through him as if Ben had screamed.

He reaches both hands into the space inside the cabinet and gently pulls Ben out onto his lap. “There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m not angry at you. It just hurt and I overreacted,” he tries, holding the small body tight against his chest. Two weeks without Cas and already things are reverting to the way they were before. He feels like a failure.

“You’re hurt?” Ben whispers.

“The brick hurt my foot when I stepped on it.”

Ben nods. “I’m sorry, daddy. I’ll pick it up,” he acquiesces with a watery hiccup.

Dean holds a little tighter, not quite ready to let Ben go. After a few moments, he realizes that he’s shaking weakly and his throat is tight with tears. _Pull yourself together, Winchester,_ he snaps at himself. _You can do this. You don’t need Cas to be a good father._

He gives Ben one more solid squeeze and twists to set him on his feet. Ben quickly runs over and scoops up the Lego, as well as two more that were scattered in the doorway to his room. Dean gives himself another second to take a deep breath before he pushes himself up and walks to the kitchen.

The great thing about it being just the two of them is that an average dish usually gives them another two or three days’ worth of leftovers for lunches and dinners.  He throws a bag of frozen broccoli into the microwave while he makes up two plates of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Although he has a pretty varied diet, Ben only recently started tolerating broccoli. Another thing he can credit to Cas. He pushes the thought away.

As usual, Ben chatters nonstop through dinner. Dean tries to pay attention, but he can’t help thinking how much better Cas is at this. He always knows exactly how much to let Ben ramble about his interests versus how much to engage him other topics. Dean has a tendency to let it go on too long and tune him out.

“Do you think they should, daddy?” Ben asks and Dean swings his gaze up to Ben’s expectant face. Just like he was just doing, apparently.

“I’m sorry, bug. I wasn’t paying attention,” Dean admits with a small sigh.

“Do you think they should let the dragons live in the meadow behind the sawmill?”

Oh, right. Ben has been reading a series of books about dragons that help the inhabitants of a village in the mountains. He finished one right before school let out, so they’d gone to the library to check out a few more. Cas had assured him that the books, while technically for children who are two or three years older than Ben, have appropriate language and content that Ben can understand. Dean pushes away the bolt of pain at the memory of Cas smiling and laughing when they talked about the books and nods. “It would be the nice thing to do.”

Ben’s face screws up and he stares at Dean for long enough that Dean is reminded of the way Cas studies him so intently. “Are you sad, daddy?”

 Dean tries to curl his lips up into a smile, but the gesture falls flat even for him. “Nah, I’m okay. Just tired,” he tries anyway.

“You seem sad, like when Ash goes back to California.”

Dean bites back a harsh laugh. There’s something fitting about that. After all the chaos he’s caused, Dean certainly won’t be sad to see Ash leave this time. “I guess I’m a little sad,” Dean relents.

“Because you miss Cas?” Ben’s eyes are wide, his gaze penetrating as he studies Dean’s face.

Dean thinks about denying it. After all, does Ben really need to know about the situation? He’s surprised Ben has even figured that much out. He’s opening his mouth to put Ben off when he remembers Cas telling him that children can handle a lot of things adults think they can’t. _When something bad happens, explain in a way they can understand so that it reassures them. Trust me, Dean. The explanations they come up with on their own are usually a hundred times worse than the truth_.

“Yeah,” Dean says, his voice cracking a little on the admission. “Me and Cas had a disagreement, so we just need to take a little time to figure it out.”

Ben nods and seems to think about that for a moment before he asks, “Is he going to come to my party?”

It’s an excellent question, but one that Dean doesn’t know how to answer. Cas hasn’t responded to a single one of Dean’s texts for the last two weeks, even the one telling him about Ben’s party. He knows Cas is getting them, though, because Meg told him. “I don’t know, bug. I know he wouldn’t want to miss it for the world, but he might not be able to make it. It has nothing to do with you, okay? It’s grown-up stuff.”

He’s not really sure what Ben thinks of his answer, because he just turns his eyes back to his plate and continues eating. The rest of dinner is almost eerily quiet.

With no plans for the evening, Dean is surprised that Ben doesn’t want to watch a movie. When he retreats to his room for the rest of the night, Dean tries not to worry that his morose mood is rubbing off on his son.

The sound of Ben in the bathroom drags him out of a fitful sleep the next morning. His racing heart and a sense of dread are the last vestiges of the dream he’d been caught in. He doesn’t remember all the details, but a lingering vision of Cas walking away is enough to tell him the overall gist.

It doesn’t take long to make them both breakfast, with two large cups of coffee for Dean, and to pack Ben up for his overnight stay at Bobby and Ellen’s. He’s been so excited about the party that he’s been nagging them all week about spending the night. Normally, Dean is happy to have some time to himself, but the thought of being alone for the first time in two weeks makes him antsy.

Sam and Jess’ car is already parked in the driveway behind John’s truck when Dean pulls the Impala up in front of Bobby and Ellen’s. While there’s quite bit that can’t be done until tomorrow, including most of the cooking, getting the pool opened and moving all the lawn furniture out of the garage will probably take most of the day.

Ben runs straight to the kitchen as soon as they let themselves into the house, but Dean detours into the living room where Bobby and John are watching an old western on AMC. “You two gonna help at all or are you just gonna hide out in here all day?”

John rolls his eyes in Dean’s direction. “One of the perks of havin’ kids is you don’t gotta do the heavy liftin’ anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean chides affectionately. “Enjoy your old man shows.” He backtracks to the kitchen, where he finds Ben elbow deep in flour while Jess chops apples next to him. Ellen stirs a large pot on the stove that smells temptingly like Ellen’s famous rib sauce.

“How are you doing?” Ellen murmurs, abandoning the pot to hug Dean in greeting. Her arms are warm and the familiar smell of her shampoo comforts him in a way that almost nothing else can. When she steps back, he finds himself wanting to hold on just a little bit longer.

His throat tightens and he clears it before answering. “We’re doin’ okay.”

“Still no word on if he’s coming tomorrow?” Jess asks as she throws two handfuls of chopped apples into the bowl next to her.

“No word at all. He asked for time and that’s what I’m givin’ him.” He doesn’t mention the texts he’s been sending every day, just as a reminder to Cas that Dean hasn’t given up. The one he sent before they left the house this morning read only _I miss holding you._

Ellen reaches out to touch his arm. “You know if you need an—”

“What do you need me to do?” he cuts her off. He’s fine. He doesn’t need the family fussing over him as if he’s broken or something.

She narrows her eyes before shaking her head with a small sound of disappointment. “Ash and Sam are opening the pool. Tanker delivered the water this morning, so they’re hookin’ up the filter and doin’ the chemicals. The grill and chairs and stuff need brought of the garage.”

Dean gives her a quick nod, not trusting his voice, and walks out the back door. He hasn’t really talked to Ash since the night he showed up at the house. It isn’t so much that he’s angry at Ash, because at the end of the day, the whole mess isn’t entirely Ash’s fault. He just isn’t sure what to say. Ash knows that he screwed things up between Dean and Cas, but only because Bobby told him.  Other than a few texts to apologize, Ash has followed Dean’s lead and kept their contact to a minimum. Another week and he’ll be heading back to California to wrap up at Charybdis and start his new job. Dean just needs to hold it together until then.

“Tighten the screw on the hose clamp. Dammit, tighten, Sam. The other way. If the clamp is getting bigger, that’s not tightening.” Dean hears Ash snapping at Sam as soon as he steps outside.

“You didn’t give me the right kind of screwdriver,” Sam protests.

“For fucks sake, Samuel. It’s a flat blade. Grab one out of the toolbox right there.”  Ash is on the other end of the pool, setting the timer and ensuring that all of the GFCI receptacles are working properly. He stops and pushes his hair back out of eyes as soon as he catches sight of Dean. “Your brother is beyond useless with his hands,” he snarks.

Normally Dean would toss back some joking innuendo about that being Jess’ problem, but his heart really isn’t in it. Instead, he just climbs the deck stairs and snags the flat blade screwdriver from the toolbox. He has all four hoses aligned and the clamps tightened before Sam even locates the right tool.

“Show off,” Sam teases, but his eyes are worried. He studies Dean’s face for a moment and Dean knows that he’s taking in the dark circles under his eyes. Another near sleepless night meant they hadn’t exactly been subtle when he looked in the mirror this morning.

Dean just shrugs and turns to call to Ash, “You ready for me to turn it on?”

“Yeah. Everything looks good, but mom’s gonna have to replace the timer in the next couple years. It’s gettin’ hella corroded.”

Dean flips the switch on the pump and they listen to it gurgle to life. Within minutes, the water is circulating smoothly through the filter and back out into the pool. Together, they take turns walking around the deck, measuring and adding chemicals. By the time they’re finished, the sun is almost directly above them and Dean’s shirt is sweated through. Looks like it’s going to be even warmer today than they were calling for.

There’s only four steps down from the deck into the yard and Dean heads down them to start bringing out the lawn furniture. Whether it’s the heat making him lightheaded or exhaustion finally catching up to him, his foot misses the top step and there’s a moment of disorientation before Ash’s arm around his waist steadies him.

Ash has put his arm around Dean’s waist a hundred, maybe a thousand, times and it feels right, like it’s grounding Dean. For just a split second he lets himself relax into it, let’s himself be held, before the reality of what he’s doing shoots through him and he steps back like he’s been scalded. Without conscious thought, he shoves Ash away, overbalancing him so that he teeters on the edge of the pool for a moment before Sam grabs his arm to stop him from falling in.

“Jesus, next time I’ll just let you bust your head open,” Ash snaps. Equal parts annoyance and hurt war in his eyes and Dean remembers shoving him the night Ash kissed him in his living room.

A fresh wave of pain and longing surges through him and he misses Cas so much he can barely take a breath. “I’m sorry, man, I just, shit,” he stammers, rubbing one hand down his face.

Sam clears his throat awkwardly. “Hey, I think your mom said she needed someone to run to the Roadhouse and pick up drinks and stuff for tomorrow. You wanna take my car and head over?” he asks Ash. He’s doing that thing where he flicks his eyes from Dean to Ash and it’s obvious that he’s trying to separate them before something bursts wide open.

Dean’s chest aches when Ash just nods and accepts Sam’s keys. He bounds down the stairs and across the lawn without looking at Dean. _So damn selfish_ , he’d told Cas and here is proof. He wanted it all, his friend and his lover, and that selfishness has left him with neither. Things haven’t been this strained with Ash since the first few months after he left for California.

Once Ash is gone, Sam doesn’t mention what happened again. They wheel the grill out and lift it up the patio steps, then carry the two tables out. It takes eight trips to bring out all the chairs and spread them around the decks and yard. Every time they do this, Dean wonders if having a big family is worth it.

Once everything is in place, Dean unfolds one of the lounge chairs and falls back onto it, letting his eyes drift closed. He hears Sam approaching and isn’t surprised to see his brother’s long, lanky body filling up the chair beside him when he opens his eyes. They sit in silence for a few minutes before Sam takes a deep breath.

“Don’t,” Dean says tiredly. He knows that Sam is gearing up for one of his big heart-to-heart talks and Dean is too gutted to tolerate it.

“I was just going to ask if you were okay.”

Dean sighs. “I know. That’s why I told you not to. I’m handlin’ it.”

“You’re not sleeping,” Sam points out rather unhelpfully as if Dean was unaware. “How are you even staying upright at work? You’re going to end up hurting yourself.”

Dean bristles with annoyance. “I’m not a fuckin’ kid, Sammy. Ain’t the first time I’ve had to pick up the pieces when somebody realized I wasn’t worth the effort.”

“Dean,” Sam retorts, his voice holding both sadness and rebuke. “You know that isn’t what’s going on.” He sits up on the chair and swings his legs over the side so he can face Dean.

Closing his eyes tightly so that he doesn’t have to look at the way Sam’s eyes go all crinkly at the edges when he’s worried, Dean scoffs quietly. “How ain’t it? He said, and I quote, ‘I don’t know if I can do this’ and we both know that ‘this’ means puttin’ up with me. Bein’ with me isn’t worth the risk ‘cause he knows I’m just gonna fuck it all up eventually. Hell, I can’t even blame him for bein’ smart enough to get out now.” Dean hates the slight quiver in his voice, but it feels good to finally get the thoughts that have been kicking around in his head out in the open.

“That’s a bunch of bullshit and you know it. This is what you do when someone hurts you. You turn it around in your head until you figure out how to make it your fault. This isn’t on you, man. Cas is wrong, end of story. You guys are good for each other and you just need to make him see it.” He reaches out and lays his land on Dean’s shoulder. “Letting people decide for you instead of fighting for what you want is what got you in this mess to begin with.”

Dean opens his eyes and meets his brother’s gaze. Sam looks unwavering, like he means every word he’s saying, and it breaks something inside Dean. “He doesn’t want me,” he whispers, a single tear sliding down his cheek. He doesn’t have the strength to wipe it away even though he hates the clammy feeling of the moisture on his skin.

“He does. He’s just scared. Don’t give up on him.”

A soft sob escapes before Dean can stop it. It’s certainly not the first time he has cried in front of his brother, but it is still something Dean hates more than anything in the world. He’s supposed to be the strong one, the one Sam leans on. He hates when Sam sees him being weak. The damage is done, though, so he asks uncertainly, “And if it’s really over? If he never comes back to me, no matter how hard I fight for him?” He looks back up to meet Sam’s eyes.

Sam takes a deep, unsteady breath. “Then we’re all here for you. You’re not alone, Dean. You’ll never be alone.” He holds Dean’s gaze as if he’s willing Dean to believe him.

Dean nods once, a sharp jerk of his head. He lets his head fall back against the chair and Sam turns to stretch out next to him. More tears fall, but he doesn’t wipe them away and Sam doesn’t say anything else. He closes his eyes again and Dean lets himself take comfort in his brother’s presence until Ellen calls them in for pizza.

When they come through the back door, Sam creates a diversion long enough to allow Dean to slip up the back stairs to the bathroom unnoticed. Everyone is sitting around the big dining room table, Ash included, when he comes back down, dry-eyed and stoic. He takes the open seat next to Ben even though it puts him directly across the table from Ash. Ash acts like nothing is wrong, but Dean can’t bring himself to meet his eyes.

“How’s the Plymouth comin’ along?” John asks, adding a second slice to his plate.

Dean is glad for the distraction. “Not too bad,” he reports. “The kid who owns it is kind of a pain in the ass ‘cause he’s tryin’ to do what he thinks his dad would want and he keeps changin’ his mind. I think we finally got settled on the paint color, though, so it should only be another two or three weeks of work.”

“We got a line on a ’62 Ford truck up in Atchison, too. With that intranet doohickey they’re settin’ up, we should start pullin’ in pretty steady business,” Bobby adds.

“In-ter-net,” Ash pronounces with a chuckle. “Welcome to the 21st century, old man.” He turns to Dean with a raised eyebrow. “The doohickey is a website?”

“Yeah. Charlie came down and took some pictures of some of the cars we’ve done and is settin’ one up for us.”

“You gave her that thumb drive I sent you?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, thanks. She squealed like a kid on Christmas and started babblin’ about unreleased code in a language that I’m pretty sure wasn’t English. Said to tell you she was gonna kiss you when she saw you.” Dean swallows hard and meets Ash’s eyes. “You should give her a call while you’re in town,” he says and it feels like a peace offering.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Ash looks back down at his plate, but there’s a small smile dancing at the corner of his mouth.

Talk around the table eventually turns to more planning for the picnic tomorrow. “Benny and Andrea are bringing the kids. I can’t wait to get my hands on that baby,” Ellen says with a wink at Jess. “She said she has some clothes for you that the little one has already grown out of.”

Ellen rattles off the names of a few kids from school who have also been invited. Dean has been trying to avoid thinking about facing Candace and Jolene since he’ll probably have to explain why Cas isn’t there. The women have been supportive of their relationship at the school and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stand their looks of pity if he has to tell them that he and Cas are taking a break.

“I wish Cas would come to my party,” Ben says suddenly. “He and daddy had a fight and now he’s not coming.”  Six pairs of eyes swing up to glance between him and Dean as if they’re gauging Dean’s reaction.

Dean takes a deep, fortifying breath. “We talked about this, bug,” he starts, trying to ignore the ache in his chest.

“But why can’t one of you say sorry and then Cas can come too? I don’t want him to not come.”

It would be awesome if it was that easy. Before he can answer, though, Ash responds in a sad voice, “Sayin’ you’re sorry doesn’t always work, Ben.” He catches and holds Dean’s eyes. “No matter how much you want it to.”

Dean is suddenly angry. Leave it to Ash to finally get what Dean has been telling him, now when it’s too late and the damage is done. “Glad you finally figured that out,” he snaps harshly, eyes boring into Ash’s. “Better late than never.”

Ash doesn’t respond, but his throat works as he swallows hard. Ellen doesn’t give him a chance to answer, though. “I think you boys still got some stuff to work out. Why don’t you take it outside away from ears that don’t need to hear it?” He casts a pointed glance at Ben.

Dean wants to refuse. He feels like he’s done enough talking for a lifetime, but he knows better than to refuse a direct order from Ellen. With a heavy, recalcitrant sigh, he gathers up his plate and his bottle of beer and stalks out the door to the patio without waiting to see if Ash is following. He’s already finishing his second piece of pizza when Ash finally joins him.

There are a few minutes of tense, uneasy silence while Dean tries to figure out what he’s supposed to say. Finally, he decides on the truth. “I’m tryin’ really hard not to be pissed at you for fuckin’ everything up with Cas.”

Ash’s jaw is clenched when Dean looks over at him, but he unlocks it to say, “You know I’m sorry for that. I wasn’t really thinkin’ straight. Wish I could rewind and take it back.”

Dean nods. He does know, but it doesn’t really help. “If you woulda just listened to what I was sayin’—”

“I know. I guess I didn’t want to see that you’re different now. Happier, more assertive. Sometimes I feel like you’re the only thing in the world that makes me feel like I’m still me. If you take that away, I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“That’s ridiculous, man. You’re the most confident person I know. Give ‘em hell and who gives a shit what they think about you.”

Ash laughs but the sound is strangled in his throat. “My dad caught me kissin’ Nate Pierce down by the river two weeks before the accident.”

Dean takes a moment to process the sudden change of topic, then shakes his head. “You never told me that.”

“Never told anyone. Read me the same riot act your dad did when he caught us, but he said there was somethin’ broke in me, that he wondered if I was even his son. He got right in my face and asked how he could ever be expected to be proud of a son who likes dick.”

“Jesus, Ash.”

He takes a long, shuddering breath and his voice is wrecked when he continues. “He never spoke another word to me. Not one damn word for the next two weeks. I’d walk into a room and he’d walk out. Couldn’t even bring himself to look at me. I figured he never said anything to mom ‘cause she kept askin’ me what was goin’ on. I just couldn’t tell her, y’know? I watched him load up the truck and drive away and I never said a word.” He laughs harshly. “I was so fucking angry at him and he never came back. He said I wasn’t his son and he never came back.”

It’s like the last twenty years never passed and Ash is that skinny kid bawling in the dirt again. His heart is breaking for his friend all over again, but it puts so many things from that summer into perspective. “Why didn’t you ever say?”

“If nobody knew then I could just pretend it never happened, right? If it didn’t happen then dad died proud of me, not disgusted by the fag he didn’t even want as a son.”

“Fuck, Ash,” Dean breathes. His arms ache to reach out, but he knows that would only confuse things, so he clenches his hands into fists and buries them in his lap. “That’s why you wouldn’t tell anyone about us. Even after you came out, you made me keep it a secret.”

Ash nods sadly, eyes fastened on Dean’s face like he can’t bear to look away. “I knew what a temper John had back then. I’d seen it enough times and I couldn’t risk you. He hated me; talked to me the same way my dad did. You were everything to me and I couldn’t risk your dad keepin’ us apart. It killed me when you started dating Cassie, because I wanted so bad for it to be me.”

“I woulda done it, you know that. I woulda stood up to dad or anyone else to be with you. Cassie used to tease me sometimes that she was just a placeholder for you and she wasn’t far off.”

“I was terrified when your dad found us in the garage that day. It was just like my dad all over again, but man, you did it. You stood right up to him and you didn’t back down and he eventually came around.”

“Your dad mighta, too. If he’d had the chance.”

“Maybe.”

There are a thousand more things Dean wants to say, but his thoughts won’t stop swirling long enough for him to pick something out. It’s like there has been a whole piece of Ash missing all these years and Dean never noticed. He feels like shit for it.

“Don’t make the same mistakes I did,” Ash says, breaking the silence. “I know I fucked things up for you, and I will never stop being sorry for that, but you gotta fight for him. Don’t let him walk away, ‘cause you’ll both regret it.”

“I’m trying, but he won’t let me. Won’t even talk to me.”

Ash studies him for a long moment before exhaling. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“I know.” A pause, then, “You know that I love you, too.”

Ash squeezes his eyes shut and when he opens them, they are glistening. “Not like you love him.”

Dean shakes his head slowly. “No. Like I love Benny or Sam or Jo. You’re my family.”

“Having you say that is more than I deserve after the way I’ve been actin’.”

There is still so much up in the air, so many things that he’s not sure are going to work out the way he wants them to, but something loosens in his chest knowing that he and Ash are okay. “Family sticks together,” Dean says, reaching out to clasp Ash’s shoulder. “Even when some members of that family are assholes.”

* * *

* * *

Two-parts Naples Yellow, one-part Transparent Red Ochre. The outline of the mountains in the distance floats above the already finished desert in the foreground. The landscape is barren, no other signs of life besides the dark haired boy standing with his hand on the back of a large gray wolf. There is a figure in the far distance, barely recognizable as a man.

Cas sighs and carefully blocks out the boy’s face again. This is the third time he’s repainted the boy’s features because no matter how hard he tries to make them different, the boy always turns out looking like Ben. The man in the distance has no facial features, only because Cas can’t bring himself to attempt them.

He carefully crafts the sweep of the boy’s nose, the cupid’s bow of his mouth, the set of his eyes, and intentionally makes them a deep, dark drown instead of vibrant green. Even with the change in eye color, the boy is still recognizable as Ben. Cas drops the palette and brush on the table, ignoring the smear of color it leaves on the wood.

The sound system switches over from Mumford & Sons to Norah Jones and the opening piano makes his heart ache. He reaches across the table for the remote as his phone lights up with a text.

**[Dean] 8:13PM: I hope you’re having a good day.**

Two texts in one day. Cas wasn’t expecting that. A pulse of want goes through him and he reaches down to flick the band at his wrist. His fingers meet bare skin instead of the smooth rubber, and he remembers that he promised Meg he would stop wearing it.

He reaches for the phone instead and opens the texting app. Although it makes his heart throb painfully in his chest, he scrolls through the last two weeks of texts from Dean. They’re simple, most of them just one short sentence, a few words at most. He hasn’t responded to any of them, but it hasn’t stopped Dean from trying. Why is he doing this again?

Tomorrow is Ben’s kindergarten graduation party. He knows that Ben is expecting him to be there, but he’s not entirely sure he’ll be welcome. A single tear slips down his cheek at the thought of how much Dean’s family must hate him for putting Dean through this.

The worst part is that he knows Meg is right. He knows that nothing happened between Dean and Ash and he knows that Dean loves him. He’s pushing Dean away because it’s easier than facing the fear that Ash is more important to Dean than he will ever be. Thirty years of shared experience is a lot to go up against.

He’s a coward. That’s what Meg said and Zar didn’t contradict her. Even Gabriel and Kali have been frustrated with his stubborn refusal to talk to Dean. During their last conversation, Gabriel threatened to fly out to Lawrence to ‘see if I can pry your head out of your ass with a crowbar.’ Cas isn’t entirely certain Gabriel was joking.

They’re right, he knows that. He knows what he’s doing to Dean, Ben, and himself is unnecessary. He knows that he could just choose to be with Dean and ignore the risks. It’s what everyone keeps telling him he needs to do.

Knowing, though, doesn’t seem to be enough to let him make the choice to move forward. Every time he thinks about getting in the car and driving over to Dean’s, he’s paralyzed by waves of both pure need and unadulterated terror. What if they’re all wrong? What if being with Dean, and eventually losing Dean, is what ultimately destroys him? What if Zachariah is right and he’s been cursed from the very beginning?

He hears Juliet startle and jump up just outside the studio door. She races away with a sharp bark that can only mean someone is knocking on the door. He glances down at the time on his phone. Meg hadn’t said she was dropping by, but it’s not like she always does. With a sigh, he glances at the unfinished painting on the easel and the supplies he still needs to clean up.

Juliet is dancing around the door still barking when Cas reaches it. Expecting Meg, he doesn’t bother to look through the peephole before shoving Juliet away and yanking it open. The admonishment dies on his tongue as soon as he sees who is standing there. Decidedly not Meg. He silences Juliet with a firm command.

“You gonna slam the door in my face?” Ash asks warily, eyes flicking from Cas down to where Juliet stands at heel. “Or maybe sic your dog on me?”

That answers the question of whether Ash is still in town. “What are you doing here?”

“Need to talk to you,” Ash offers with a shrug. He looks surprised when Cas steps aside wordlessly and lets him into the house.

The other man looks as wrecked as Cas feels. His eyes are bloodshot and his hair, an awkward medium length as it grows out from the spikey style he had at Christmas, is a tousled mess. He’s still watching Cas cautiously, even as Cas walks away from him into the kitchen. A riot of emotions war for priority and Cas can’t even begin to put together what he wants to say.

“Do you want a drink? There are a few bottles of beer left.” That was obviously not what Ash was expecting, because he looks even more nervous now. “I was led to believe you liked beer, but I also have wine, orange juice, milk, or water if you’d prefer.”

Ash’s brows pull together in confusion. “Gotta admit. Wasn’t really expectin’ you to roll out the welcome mat. Figured a punch in the face was more likely.”

Cas thinks about that for a moment. Would that make him feel better? The physicality of taking his frustration out on Ash? It’s not that he’s never punched anyone before. Chicago in the early 2000’s wasn’t as progressive as some places and being openly gay on the Northwestern campus was still a risk, especially in some of the clubs where Michael’s band played. He glances past Ash at the slight shadow from where the drywall has been patched, and a cold tremor passes through him. He shakes his head. “I don’t like violence.”

“Huh. Well, then a beer, I guess. Have a feeling I might need it.”

Cas pulls a bottle from the fridge and hands it to Ash. He watches the man twist the metal cap off with his bare hand, just like Dean does it, and his chest aches a little more. Cas takes a step back and leans against the counter, motioning with one arm that Ash is welcome to sit at the kitchen island.

They regard each other in silence for a few moments. Ash seems different than he was at Christmas. Less blustery bravado and brazen cockiness, more withdrawn and subdued. He’s almost a shell of the man Cas met six months ago. “Would you have preferred if I had hit you?” Cas asks, suddenly curious.

A few beats of silence and then Ash shrugs. “Probably. I understand that. Easier than this talking bullshit.”

“You sound like Dean.” They’re so alike in ways that Cas will never be.

“He loves you.”

Cas’ breath catches in his throat. It burns as he forces himself to relax and let the air move through him. “He loves you, too.”

Ash’s hand closes reflexively on the bottle and he lifts it to his mouth to drink before answering. “Not the way he loves you. You’re it for him.”

It’s not what Cas was expecting. Ash should be fighting for Dean; telling Cas that he’ll never be to Dean what Ash is. The script has been flipped and Cas is at a loss. He says the first thing he thinks. “Did you sleep with Dean last week?”

Ash’s eyes dart away, but then he meets Cas’ gaze and says firmly, “No. I slept on the couch. I showed up there drunk and I kissed him.” He ignores Cas’ sharp inhale. “He knocked me on my ass shoving me away. He didn’t kiss back, not even a little, man. He loves you and I’ve been too much of an asshole to listen. He’s told me to stay away and he hasn’t wavered, not at all, since Christmas.”

Something loosens in Cas’ chest at the admission. Dean left out the part where Ash kissed him, but it doesn’t seem important now. Not if what Ash says is true and Dean didn’t return it. How far can he trust Ash to be truthful? How far is he willing to go? “Did you sleep with him at Christmas?”

There’s a flicker in Ash’s eyes, a moment when Cas knows he’s thinking about lying, then he draws in a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says on a slow exhale. “He was pissed off after you left, mostly at me, and I took advantage of it. I’ve known how to push his buttons for twenty years. It’s not that hard.”

Ash’s words should sound like bragging, but they don’t. There’s an edge of self-loathing under them that gives Cas pause. “I’m not sure what you want me to say,” Cas admits softly.

“He said you’re not talking to him and you’re gonna skip Ben’s party tomorrow.”

Cas’ heart aches. “I’m not sure I can be around them right now.”

Ash sets the bottle down on the counter with a thud and leans forward intently. “Don’t fucking do this to him. You wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at me, but don’t punish him because I’m a selfish asshole.”

The vehemence in Ash’s voice surprises Cas. “I’m not angry at him.” The words sound meaningless to Cas’ ears.

“Family is the most important thing in the world to Dean. He’s been through hell and back and a lot of that was my fault.” He pauses to take another swallow of beer. “I know he told you how John drug him and Sam all over, but there’s a ton of shit I’m sure he hasn’t mentioned. Like when we were twelve and John was gettin’ ready to skip town again. There was a huge blow-up ‘cause Dean refused to leave. He wanted him and Sam to stay with us, even went to far as gettin’ mom and dad and Bobby to put pressure on John. Dean’s dad was a mean S.O.B. back then, ‘specially when he was drinkin’. He told Dean he could stay, but that he shouldn’t ever think about contactin’ John again. Then he drug Sam out to the car and drove away.”

Cas’ eyes go wide. The bond between Dean and his brother is amazingly strong and Cas can only imagine how distraught Dean must have been.

“Dean was fucking terrified that something was gonna happen to Sam. He was only eight and John was drunk all the time. He held out for a week, before he finally convinced mom to let him call John and beg him to come get him. Bobby ended up driving Dean down to Oklahoma City ‘cause John wouldn’t come back to Lawrence for him.”

Cas presses one hand to his chest as he imagines a twelve-year-old Dean giving up his chance for stability to protect Sam. “If it wasn’t for Sam, he would have stayed with you,” Cas insists.

Ash shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. Guess we’ll never know. When push came to shove, though, he picked John the second time too, so who knows. I was such a dumbass for thinkin’ I could have it all. I shoulda never left.” He gives Cas a wry smile. “But I guess that’s a moot point now, huh? I’m just a habit that he’s kept up because he gets lonely. I’ve known that for a while now. You, though, he freakin’ lights up when he talks about you. You give him something that I haven’t been able to for a long time.”

He desperately wants to believe what Ash is saying. “Maybe that’s true, but I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Stop letting my bullshit get in the way of you and Dean being happy, that’s what.”

“I don’t know how to do that.” Cas’ frustration, more with himself, than with Ash or Dean at this point, colors his words.

Ash turns in his chair and stares out the back windows. Shadows of twilight are just falling over the gardens and the fairy lights Cas put back out last month are turning on, giving the yard a magical glow. He doesn’t turn back to Cas when he says, “I pretty much hated you at Christmas. Things were fine, at least as far as I was concerned, but you came along and you changed things in ways that no one else ever did. Not even Lisa. You made him want things that I couldn’t give him and I was so fucking pissed off at you for it.”

“I think that was pretty obvious,” Cas retorts dryly. He remembers the way Ash played them, first flirting with Cas, then giving Dean the guitar. The sick feeling in his stomach increases when he thinks about the way Dean responded to Ash’s every touch.

Ash swings back around and meets Cas’ eyes. “Like I said, I know how to push his buttons. It wasn’t hard to play him enough to get him to swing back to me, just like he does every time.”

“That’s the thing,” Cas admits softly. “If you come back, he’ll pick you like he always does. Christmas is proof that you know how to make that happen. How do I live with that?”

“You ignore it and trust that he loves you. I’m a manipulative asshole sometimes, Cas. Dean knows that, but you’ve finally given him a reason to stop letting me do it.” He huffs out an ugly laugh. “Maybe I should be thanking you for showing me what I was doing to him.”

Cas just stares at him. “You really believe that?”

“One of the reasons I was actually thinking about coming back was because I saw that Dean was slipping away. Every day he spent with you pulled him farther away from what we had,” Ash confesses, and he looks so much younger when his eyes are filled with tears and uncertainty.  “You’re wrong. Not just a little, completely wrong. Dean would pick you every time.”

“You have a past together.”

“Sure,” Ash says with a shrug. “But that’s just it. I’m his past, but you and Ben are his future. I could never give Dean what you can.”

“Ben loves you.” Cas isn’t sure anymore who he’s trying to convince.

Ash laughs, and it sounds more like actual humor now. “Don’t get me wrong, I freakin’ love that kid, but can you really see me as a father?”  He downs the last of the beer and stands up. “Look, here’s the bottom line. Dean is my best friend and I want him to be happy. It’s what I shoulda wanted all along. You make him happy. I’ve been too selfish to see that the way I’ve been treating him has been hurting him and that’s something I’m gonna have to live with forever. Do I wish things were different? Yeah, it fucking hurts like hell, but I’ve really got no one to blame but myself. All I can hope for now is that I don’t lose my best friend, too.”

Cas frowns. “Why would you?”

Ash scoffs, then looks at Cas in disbelief. “You really don’t get it, do you? If you told him to never talk to me again, he would do it. Without hesitation. You’ve got all the power here, man, whether you believe it or not.”

The openness and vulnerability in Ash’s eyes suggest that he believes wholeheartedly what he is saying. Dean would give up his best friend for Cas. It’s astonishingly, but in the moment, Cas almost believes it.

“Do you love him?” Ash asks softly.

“More than I ever thought possible.”

Ash nods, just once, then smiles sadly. “Then don’t let him go. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Cas wishes he could say that the fear is gone, that Ash’s words convinced him that his dread is unfounded, but it isn’t. In the back of his mind, he’s not completely convinced that they’re forever. He might never be. What Ash’s words did show him, though, is that Dean is worth fighting for. Whatever the chance of losing Dean eventually might be, it’s less than the one hundred percent certainty if he walks away. He meets Ash’s eyes, tipping his chin up a little in challenge. “If you change your mind, I won’t let go so easily a second time.”

Ash smiles, a full grin that lights up his eyes and Cas sees the man that Dean fell in love with all those years ago. “You better not.” He looks down then, his face clouding again, and he picks at a stain that looks like oil on his jeans for a few moments before looking up. “Listen, Ben would really like you to be there tomorrow. I get it if you don’t want me there. I’ll find a reason to stay away. They, ah, I think they just really need you to be there.”

There’s fear, still, in the back of Cas’ mind. Fear of a repeat of Christmas, of watching Dean and Ash together and seeing that things aren’t as over between them as they say they are. Instead of giving into it, though, he reminds himself of the way Dean beams when his whole family is together. “No,” Cas says decisively. “I won’t tear Dean’s family apart. You are part of that family and you and I are going to have to figure out a way to coexist in Dean’s life. We might as well start tomorrow.”

No matter what Ash might have said, Cas isn’t expecting the relief that shows in the other man’s eyes. “I, ah, thanks, man.” He starts to put out his hand to Cas, then pulls it back. Dean must have told him that Cas doesn’t like to be touched.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Cas puts out his hand in offering. The slight discomfort, a nagging sense of unease in the back of his mind, is worth it for the way Ash relaxes when their hands meet. He clasps Cas’ hand for just a moment, then pulls away to awkwardly run that hand through his hair.

“I’ll get out of your way,” he says, quickly backtracking to the door. Cas follows him and holds it open for him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Cas nods with a smile. “Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He watches until Ash is almost to the car before he calls his name. When the other man looks up, he adds, “Thank you.”

Ash gives him a small, jaunty salute and climbs into the car. Cas closes the door before he’s out of the driveway.

A buzzing, restless energy courses through him. It’s like his body wants to burst with it. He’s torn between grabbing his phone to call Dean immediately and an overwhelming need to see him, to touch and savor and never let go. He practically trips over his own feet in his haste to get back to the studio for his phone. Seeing the mess on the table, he knows that he’ll hate himself if he doesn’t clean his brushes and put things in their proper places, even though he’s half tempted to just leave and worry about it tomorrow. Partially in punishment for his lack of faith, he forces himself to take his time, cleaning his workspace as carefully and methodically as always.

When everything is in its place, he picks up his phone.

_[You] 9:27PM: Are you home?_

Cas is prepared to wait anxiously, but it only takes a few seconds for his phone to register a response.

**[Dean] 9:27PM: Yes**

_[You] 9:28PM: Stay there. I’m coming._

He tugs on his shoes, but before he leaves the studio, he flips through his sketch book and pulls out a picture he’d drawn the week before his mother died and everything went to hell. Clutching the sketch, he races to the Camaro.

The drive to Dean’s house is only a few blocks, but it feels like it takes years. He’s both driven and jogged these roads hundreds of times, but it’s as if he’s seeing them for the first time. Now that the anticipation of seeing Dean is flooding his system, it’s hard to remember what he was so scared of.

The front porch light is on when he pulls up the driveway. He expected trepidation, some kind of hesitation when finally faced with putting the last month behind them. Seeing Dean in the window, though, all he feels is an overpowering sense of coming home. The last time he walked up that sidewalk is burned into his memory, but tonight is going to end differently. The sketch in one hand, Cas pushes open the door and starts the walk toward what he hopes will be his future.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, so close. Just one more official chapter to go, though it's more like an epilogue.

His hand is shaking when he reaches for the door. Dean almost pulls back to steady it, but he knows that Cas is right outside. He lets himself hope. This has to be a good sign, right? He takes a deep breath and his grip on the doorknob is firm when he pulls it open.

Cas has made it to the top of the porch stairs and Dean just stares at him. The yellowish glow of the outdoor light casts an almost sickly pallor over Cas’ skin, making the dark smudges under his eyes more noticeable. Cas stops as if he’s afraid to get any closer, so Dean steps back to let him pass into the house.

The door closes with a soft snick behind them and the silence is thick, almost suffocating. Cas is gripping a piece of paper in one hand that shakes just as much as Dean’s. His arms ache to reach for him, to pull him in and never let go again, but Dean forces himself to wait. His breathing is uneven to match the way his heart beats so loudly he would be surprised if Cas can’t hear it.

A beat passes, then two, and finally Dean’s restraint is wearing thin just as Cas suddenly thrusts out the hand that is holding the paper. “I want that,” he says, his voice lower, deeper, and raspier than Dean has ever heard it; like he’s forcing out the words over hot coals. His eyes dart to Dean’s then away as if he’s afraid to make contact.

Dean isn’t ashamed that his hand trembles when he reaches for it. He wants to stretch right past the paper and grab Cas’ wrist instead, but he forces his fingers to close on the sheet. It’s a rough pencil sketch, but the scene rendered on the page makes Dean’s breath catch in his throat.

It shows Cas’ living room, the massive windows framing the background. Dean and Cas are sprawled on the couch with Cas tucked against Dean’s chest, resting between his spread legs, and one of Dean’s hands buried in his hair. Ben sits on the floor next to the couch with Juliet, toys scattered around him, smiling. It’s achingly domestic; like it captures a family.

Dean’s heart thuds painfully inside his chest as he tears his eyes from the sketch to look up at Cas, who is watching him warily. Blue eyes glisten with unshed tears as he waits for Dean’s response.

It’s everything Dean wants. Cas in his arms, Ben happy and content, the three of them together. It’s more than he could possibly dream of. It’s just a step, one foot, then the other, and then he’s crashing into Cas, pulling him into an embrace so forceful that it knocks the breath from both of them.

But Dean doesn’t need to breathe because he’s kissing Cas, mouth warm and insistent and everything he’s missed for the last two weeks. With a groan, Cas’ hands come up to cup Dean’s face, fingertips grazing the short hair at his temples as he angles his head and parts his lips so that Dean can lick inside. He shoves Cas back with the force of his onslaught until Cas is flattened against the door and Dean’s body is a hard line pressed against him, kissing him like he may never stop.

They do stop, eventually, though. Slowly, the intensity bleeds out of Dean, leaving him pressing gentle, barely-there kisses to the corners of Cas’ mouth and sweeping across his cheekbones. When Dean lets his lips drift tenderly across Cas’ closed eyelids, Cas keens faintly almost as if he’s in pain.

“I want that, too,” Dean whispers, his lips brushing against the sensitive shell of Cas’ ear. He ignores the breath that is punched out of Cas at his words and dips his head to press another kiss to the hollow just below, then steps back. Despite the early June warmth, he immediately feels chilled without Cas’ heat against him. Cas’ eyes are still closed and he’s panting softly as if he’s trying to get control of himself. “Look at me,” Dean says, brushing one thumb across Cas’ cheek.

Cas’ eyelids flutter open and the intensity of the emotion in the crystal blue eyes stabs through Dean.

“I want that, too,” Dean repeats, pouring every ounce of emotion he feels into his eyes as they bore into Cas’. “It’s everything I want. You’re everything I want, but,” he sighs and stops to gently kiss away Cas’ panic before continuing, “we need to talk about this.” He takes another step away but lets his fingertips glide down Cas’ arm to take his hand and pull him forward.

Cas settles into the spot he normally takes on the couch, his eyes still wide and wary. Dean wants nothing more than to sit next to him. He wants to keep his hands on Cas, to touch him for no other reason than to reassure himself that the other man is really here. He knows, though, that if he doesn’t keep his distance, he’ll never have the willpower to say the things that need to be said. Cas’ eyes widen fractionally more with hurt when Dean sits in the recliner instead.

Dean takes a moment to collect his thoughts, to figure out how to put everything he’s been feeling into words. He barely has a moment before Cas blurts, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Pain and fear war with hope and love to point that Dean can barely tell the emotions apart. “I know. I’m sorry, too. For everything.” He takes a deep breath. “You lied to me, Cas,” he says, then barrels forward when Cas gasps and starts to respond. “You said that we would be upfront with each other. You made me promise. You said that we would talk about things when they happened and I’ve been trying to do that. It’s really fucking hard and I’m shit at it, but I’ve been trying. I know I should have let you know as soon as Ash showed up that night, but you didn’t keep up your end either. If you had just knocked and come in that morning, I could have shown you that nothing happened, that you’re who I want. It would have saved us all a lot of pain.”

Cas stares down at his hands folded in his lap as if he can’t bear to look at Dean. He nods slightly, a movement that Dean wouldn’t have caught except that he can’t tear his eyes away from Cas. “I know,” he whispers, his voice gutted. “That’s why I didn’t come in.”

“What the hell?” Dean barks. He winces at the sharpness of his tone, but Cas’ words are like a punch to the chest. Confusion overtakes him. Why would Cas want that?

“It’s what I do, apparently,” Cas responds with a harsh laugh. “I run away. I’ve been running away from wanting things too much for my entire life.” He swallows hard, eyes finally coming up to find Dean’s. “Gabriel was the strong one, the one who did his own thing and who never cared what our parents thought. I was the good one. Compliant, passive Castiel, who always did what he was told and never questioned. Until I met Michael.”

There are a thousand questions that Dean wants to ask, curiosity about Michael that has been eating at him, but he forces himself to stay quiet. As hard as it has been to pull his relationship with Ash out into the harsh light and examine it, Dean senses that this is just as difficult.

“I was so scared to be who I wanted to be. I wanted to paint, to make art, and to be loved for who I was, not who everyone wanted me to be. Michael convinced me I could do that. I switched my major and defied my father because Michael told me I deserved to be happy. I fought so hard to be my own person. The person I was when I with him was nothing like boring, complaint Castiel. Not the good son, the one who did what he was told.” Cas’ eyes slip away and he stares out the window in silence for a few moments before his eyes flick back to Dean’s face.

“You wouldn’t even have recognized me back then,” he adds with a wry grin. “Not just the piercings and the tattoos and clothes, but everything I was. Clubbing every weekend with Michael’s band, drinking, drugs when we could get them. I’ve been high and low and everything in between. For three years, my life was music and art and Michael. It was like flying. Everything was bigger and brighter when I was with him. For the first time in my life, I didn’t mind being touched by complete strangers because the drugs and the alcohol took the edge off. I told myself that I was stronger, that I was becoming someone new, someone different than the scared little boy I’d been my whole life, the one who was terrified to let anyone down.”

Cas is right, Dean can barely picture the version of himself Cas is describing. Certainly not the unassuming, reserved man Dean has come to love. His arms ache with the need to go to Cas and hold him, to tell him it’s okay and that he doesn’t need to relive this. Not for Dean, not now.

“At the end, nothing really had changed, though,” Cas continues, seemingly unaware of Dean’s inner struggle. “I was still the scared, weak little boy I always was. Michael wanted me to move in with him after I graduated. He started talking about settling down, quitting the band. He mapped out our future, kids and the white picket fence, all of it. It was everything I wanted so badly I could practically see it.”

“And it scared you,” Dean interjects softly. He knows a little something about being scared.

Cas winces then huffs a harsh laugh. “Fucking terrified me,” he admits with a smile that isn’t really a smile at all. “I was so scared of going back to being that weak, controlled version of myself that I never stopped to consider that Michael would never want to control me. He was the one who taught me how to get away from all that. I couldn’t see it, though. All I saw was him offering me the life my parents wanted for me, so I ran. I broke up with him and wouldn’t return his calls. I threw myself into the club scene even harder. Drinking, whatever drugs I could get my hands on, a different guy every night. I was going to prove that I didn’t need someone to take care of me.” His voice cracks, and in the soft lamp light Dean can see the glistening tear tracks down his cheeks.

“You don’t have to do this, Cas,” Dean says softly. “I get it.”

Cas shakes his head roughly. “No, I need you to know who I am.”

“I know who you are.”

“I almost died,” Cas snarls, cutting off Dean’s platitudes. “I drank so much one night that I passed out in the back hallway of a club on my way back from the bathroom where I had apparently just bought some pills. I don’t remember much about that night, but Meg told me they found the pills on me and I know I didn’t have them when I left my apartment. I woke up in the hospital with a tube down my throat. If someone hadn’t found me when they did, or if I’d taken the pills with that much alcohol in my system, I wouldn’t have woken up.”

“Jesus, Cas.”

“My parents made any questions about the pill possession go away,” he says with another sharp laugh. “Turns out I needed someone to take care of me after all. I spent two weeks in the inpatient ward since they couldn’t rule out a possible suicide attempt and I wasn’t completely sure myself it hadn’t been.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath and wipes his hands across his cheeks. “After I got out my parents wanted me to move home, but I couldn’t do it. With Meg’s help, I stopped drinking, stopped going to clubs, stopped all of it. I threw myself into my art and the little gallery where I worked, saw the therapist my parents arranged every two weeks, and tried my hardest to forget about Michael. I haven’t spoken to him since the night I walked out of his apartment.” He looks up, eyes like a stormy sky as he meets Dean’s gaze. “I pushed him away because that’s what I do. I push people away so they can’t hurt me.”

“Is that what you really want? To push me away?” Dean’s heart is an uncomfortable stutter in his chest as he realizes that even after all of this, he’s not entirely sure what Cas will say. Can he live with Cas not wanting to be with him?

“You scare me, Dean. Not because I think you want to control me, but because I need you and needing you means you can hurt me. I almost let it kill me last time. I couldn’t deal with the thought of what it would do to me if you chose Ash, so I convinced myself that it was better if we just ended things now, on my terms.”

“I love you, Cas, there’s no going back or choosing Ash for me. It’s not a competition,” Dean responds forcefully, leaning forward in the chair. He reaches out for Cas, then pulls his hand back.

“I love you too, Dean. I do, even though I know I haven’t been acting like it. Being without you made me feel miserable, not safe. Ash made me realize that if I really want to be different than the person my parents made me, I have to fight for what I want.”

“Ash?”

“He came to see me tonight,” Cas admits ruefully.

“He what?”

Cas’ tiny smile is more genuine this time. “He came to the house and told me I was being a dumbass,” he says with a small laugh. “He was right. He said that you deserved someone who would fight for you and he was right about that too. He loves you a lot.”

Dean doesn’t try to hide his shock. “I know he does, but I swear, Cas, if it will make you feel better I’ll never speak to him again. If that’s what it takes to prove to you how much I love you, I would do it for you.”

Cas slides off the couch and kneels in front of Dean, a galaxy of emotion in his eyes as he takes Dean’s hands. “I know you would, but I could never ask you to do that. He’s your family and I trust you,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to the backs of Dean’s hands, his lips a soft caress over Dean’s knuckles. “I do trust you, Dean, no matter what I said. I knew you wouldn’t do that to me. I was just so scared that I forgot that there are no guarantees to anything in life. I’d rather have you for whatever time I can get than lose you completely because I’m too frightened to fight for what I want. I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

“I can work with that,” Dean responds, throat tight with emotion. For the first time in two weeks, he feels like he can breathe again, like the world isn’t crashing around him. He knows there are things that still need to be said, details that need to be hashed out if they’re going to make this work between them, but right now all he wants to think about is Cas in his arms. He tugs on Cas’ hands until the other man leans forward to wrap his arms around Dean’s waist, then lets his mouth find Cas’ again. The kiss is gentle, a teasing brush of lips before Dean pulls away to murmur softly, “Can I take you to bed?”

Cobalt eyes widen with immediate passion. “Please.”

The journey down the hallway takes longer than it should, only because Dean can’t seem to tear his mouth away from Cas’. They kiss, pausing every few steps for Dean to shove him against the wall, or for Cas to nip playfully down Dean’s throat, hands roaming freely over each other’s bodies. Every nerve ending is overloaded with sensation.

Dean shoves the bedroom door shut behind them before reaching for the hem of Cas’ shirt. They undress each other in a flurry of hands and mouths that can’t seem to resist the skin they reveal. Dean hisses, hips thrusting forward to press against Cas when the other man teases over taut nipples with his teeth. “Fuck me, Cas,” Dean exhales with a whine, skin on fire. “Need you in me. Please. I missed you so much, baby.”

Cas answers by shoving Dean backward until he tumbles onto the bed, immediately following so that they are tangled together across the mattress. Skin and heat and everything he worried he’d never have again, the sensation so sharp that Dean is drowning in it. He groans deep in his throat when Cas wraps one strong hand around his already aching length and strokes a few times. “Missed you, too. So much, Dean. Never want to be away from you again,” Cas pants, his words punctuated by a series of searing kisses across Dean’s chest.

Dean has always been a huge fan of sex, of two bodies moving together, giving and receiving pleasure, but it has never felt like this. He’s intoxicated with the feel, the smell, the taste of Cas. Cas’ hands on his body, slicking inside him as he probes, presses, stretches Dean so that his body is ready to take everything Cas can give him.

“I love you so much,” Cas murmurs as he’s nestled between Dean’s thighs. He rocks forward and Dean’s eyes snap shut at the rush of feeling as Cas’ hard cock breaches his rim. His body stretches to accommodate, every minute spark of awareness narrowing down to where they’re joined together. As soon as he’s buried inside, Cas stops, giving Dean a chance to breathe.

Dean forces his eyes open, tears gathering at the edges with the overwhelming feeling of fullness, of belonging to Cas and Cas belonging to him. “I love you, too, baby,” he breathes, leaning up to draw Cas into a passionate kiss. “Now move.”

Cas withdraws until he’s almost pulling out, then slides back in smoothly until he bottoms out. The motion repeats. After a few strokes, he’s plunging steadily, Dean’s body rocking with the force of Cas’ thrusts. Heat sparks along Dean’s nerve endings with each long, slow drag along his insides, pleasure spiraling higher. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Missed you so much, missed this, having you inside me,” Dean babbles, grunting when Cas raises himself up on his knees to shove Dean’s legs up and open wider so that he can press in even deeper. “Come on, Cas, make me come. Wanna come with you in me.”

The force of Cas’ thrusts increases and he reaches one hand between their straining bodies to start jacking Dean’s cock. Tight, steady strokes push Dean closer and closer to the edge. “You’re so hot, Dean, feel so good wrapped around me. Mine, mine, never letting you go again.” Cas’ voice is wrecked, a low growling cadence that scrapes across Dean’s senses like sandpaper, leaving a tingling awareness in its path.

“Come on, baby, give it to me. Next time, I want you in me with nothing between us. Want you to fill me up so that even when it’s over, I can still feel you inside me.” Even with Ash, Dean has never done this without a condom, never even thought about it, but suddenly it’s something he wants with every fiber of his being. He wants to know that he and Cas belong to each other so completely that they need nothing between them.

Whether it’s Dean’s words, the thought of coming inside him without a condom, or just the weeks of abstinence, it only takes another half dozen thrusts before Cas is tensing above him. He holds himself buried inside Dean as deep as he can get as his orgasm washes over him. When his hand stutters to a stop on Dean’s cock, Dean bats Cas’ hand away with a growl and gives himself a few hard strokes before he’s following Cas over the edge.

Dean winces when Cas pulls out and rolls to the side, breaths still coming raggedly. His entire body feels like an exposed nerve ending, overstimulated and sensitive. He’s barely aware of Cas when he climbs off the bed, until he’s back and a warm, wet washcloth is wiping away the evidence of his release. When Cas starts to move away again, Dean whines and reaches for him weakly. “Don’t go.”

Cas chuckles, a deep, mellow sound that immediately puts Dean at ease. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to put this back in the bathroom, then I’ll be right back.” He brushes one hand over the sweat-soaked hair on Dean’s forehead. Love and affection and promise fill his voice when he adds, “If it was up to me, I’d never leave you again.”

* * *

* * *

Confusion courses through Cas as he awakens. There’s a weight flung across his stomach and the angle of the sun across his face is all wrong. It only takes a moment, though, for him to recognize Dean’s deep, even breathing and the evening before comes back to him in a rush that makes his chest ache.

He turns his head on the pillow so that he can watch Dean sleep. His long lashes flutter against his softly freckled cheeks, making him look years younger without the weight of the responsibilities he carries when he’s awake. Cas’ throat tightens when he thinks about how he almost messed this up, how close he came to losing Dean completely.

As if he’s pulled awake by the weight of Cas’ thoughts, Dean’s eyelids flutter rapidly before they drift open. There’s no confusion on Dean’s face, just a soft smile as soon as his eyes focus on Cas. “Mornin’,” he mutters, his voice a dry rasp.

An answering smile tugs at Cas’ lips and he responds to Dean’s greeting by leaning forward to kiss him softly. He isn’t expecting Dean to roll into him, one hand coming up to bury in Cas’ hair as he anchors them together, the kiss turning passionate in less than the time it takes for Cas to pull in a ragged breath.

They make out languidly, teasing touches that start a simmering fire in Cas, but neither makes a move to take things farther. After a few minutes, Dean’s stomach growls loudly and Cas pulls back with a laugh. “Hungry?” Cas teases, pressing a light kiss to the end of Dean’s nose. “Did I wear you out?”

“Oh, yeah, baby, hungry for something only you can give me,” Dean jokes back in his worst porno voice. He rolls until Cas is trapped under him and dips to suck greedily at Cas’ neck. “Now that it’s summer, I can mark you up all I want,” he adds with a predatory growl.

Cas is taken aback by the sharp spike of _want_ that shoots through him at the thought of Dean claiming him, leaving marks that anyone can see. It’s something that Cas has always thought was juvenile, much too childish for two grown men, but he’s suddenly desperate for Dean’s claim on his body. Instead of pushing Dean away, as the other man is clearly expecting, Cas lets his head loll to the side and murmurs, “Do it.”

Dean tenses for just a moment, before growling possessively in earnest. He dips his head to Cas’ collarbone and sucks sharply, nibbling at the skin with his teeth, until Cas is sure there’s a mark that will last for days. He looks smug when he pulls away to examine his handiwork. “Now everyone will know you’re mine,” he says with a smirk and a wink.

“Yours,” Cas agrees breathlessly.

Dean rolls away to grab his phone off the nightstand, then groans dramatically. “I told Ellen I’d be there by noon, but the party doesn’t officially start until one. You must have really worn me out because it’s almost ten now.”

“That was the best I’ve slept in weeks,” Cas responds unapologetically.

Dean leans in to kiss him, expression softening. “Me, too.”

It doesn’t take much discussion to agree on a joint shower and Cas isn’t surprised when they need a second washing to clean away the results of their first. Now that he’s allowed himself to have this, to have Dean, it’s as if he can’t get enough. When Dean’s slick hand slips down to encircle his cock, teasing him to full hardness, there isn’t a force in the world that could get him to make Dean stop. When Cas comes up from his knees, after having swallowed Dean down, he lets Dean pull him into a kiss and he knows Dean can taste himself in Cas’ mouth. It’s enough almost enough to make him hard again.

Despite the extra-long shower, it’s not quite eleven when Dean and Cas walk, hand in hand, into the bakery down the street. The logo on the door reminds Cas of spilled coffee and crumpled pastries, but when Dean doesn’t mention the mess he left on the front porch, Cas just takes a deep breath and greets Mildred with a smile.

“Good to see you boys,” she says with a wink, adding an extra pump of flavor to Dean’s coffee.

“Nice to see you too, Mildred,” Dean says, returning her wink “Got up this morning and said to Cas, you know what, we should walk over to the café to see that pretty lady just to brighten the morning.”

Mildred rolls her eyes with a grin, through her cheeks flush prettily. “He’s a smooth one, Castiel. You better keep a short leash on him.”

“No leash needed, Mildred,” Cas responds, leaning in to press a light kiss to Dean’s cheek with a smile. “I know he isn’t going anywhere.”

Dean accepts his coffee, then transfers it to his other hand so that he can thread his fingers through Cas’. He brings them up to press a kiss to Cas’ knuckles, then turns to Mildred with a grin. “Nah, he’s not getting rid of me that easily. Someday, I’m gonna make an honest man of him.”

Mildred titters supportively, packing up their pastries and handing them to Cas along with his latte, but Cas can’t tear his eyes away from Dean. Did he mean what Cas thinks he meant? Is Dean thinking about marriage? Suddenly, the temperature seems to spike in the little café and Cas’ pulse races.

He manages to keep his questions to himself as Dean pays for their order and waves goodbye to Mildred with a grin, but as soon as they’re on the sidewalk heading toward home, Cas blurts out, “Did you mean that?”

“Mean what?” Dean sips his coffee nonchalantly, but Cas can tell from the way his eyes shift away that Dean knows what he’s talking about.

“What you said to Mildred about making an honest man of me. Is that what you want?”

Dean stops and turns to Cas, raising the hand not holding his coffee to brush his knuckles across Cas’ cheek. “Do I want to marry you?” he murmurs, eyes holding Cas’ so that he can’t look away. “Yeah, not going to lie, I’ve thought about it. I mean, not anytime soon ‘cause we’ve got some stuff to work out and I don’t think we’re ready for that yet, but yeah, when I look into our future I see us together as a family. Where I come from that means puttin’ a ring on your hand.”

Cas bites his lip and exhales deeply. “I love you so much,” he breathes, darting forward to capture Dean’s lips in a kiss that is probably not completely appropriate for a sidewalk on a sunny June morning. Dean returns the kiss with equal fervor and they’re both panting and grinning like idiots when they pull away.

They share the pastries on the walk back to the house, then head to Cas’ so that he can get changed before the party. As much as he loves the thrill he gets from wearing Dean’s clothes, he’d rather be appropriately attired in something other than sweats and a Molly Hatchet t-shirt when he sees Dean’s family again.

Given the way Cas’ family and friends reacted in the aftermath of Cas’ upset at Christmas, he can only imagine the displeasure Dean’s family must feel toward him now. Pre-occupied by his inability to even defend himself against their anger, he hands Dean the keys to the Camaro when he asks to drive.

“You okay?” Dean asks, breaking him out of his increasingly panicked cycle of thoughts.

“I’m fine.”

Dean scoffs. “Uh, ‘cause we’ve been sitting in your driveway for over a minute and you haven’t moved. What’s wrong?”

Cas sighs deeply. “I was thinking about how much your family must hate me,” he finally admits.

Dean pulls him in for a soft kiss. “They don’t hate you, babe. Stop worrying and go get dressed. You’ll see.”

Cas lets them into the house and Dean feeds Juliet while Cas goes to the closet to pick out something more appropriate. After selecting and discarding a half dozen choices, he settles on a pair of well-worn jeans and a soft short-sleeved gray Henley. Dean is waiting patiently by the front door when he comes back downstairs, a knowing smile curving his lips. “You look fine, stop worrying, and they’re not angry with you.”

“What?”

“The answers to everything you were just thinking,” Dean returns with a cheeky grin. “Now let’s go. I promised Ellen I’d be there by noon to start the grill, and while she might not be mad at you, she won’t hesitate to kick my ass.”

When they arrive, the only car in the driveway is Jo’s Mustang. Dean parks the Camaro directly behind it and squeezes Cas’ hand reassuringly before they get out. “Relax. Breathe. Everything is fine.”

Rather than heading toward the porch, Dean leads them through the yard to the back of the house. Bobby and Jo are fiddling with the grill, arguing loudly about something Cas can’t quite make out while Ash and Ben sit on the upper deck. A sleek paper airplane floats directly over their heads as they come around the corner and buries itself in the lilac bush next to the garage.

“Thirty feet if it was an inch,” Ash calls excitedly, raising one hand to give Ben a high-five. “Told you folding in the wing flaps would keep it more stable.”

“Ash was the paper airplane champ back in the day,” Dean calls with a chuckle. “Landed one right in Mrs. Chismar’s bouffant.”

Ben turns and runs down the steps with a yelp, throwing himself at Cas. “You came! I told daddy you wouldn’t miss my party. Did daddy say he was sorry? I told him that you could make up and be friends if he said sorry because that’s what you always say. ‘Saying sorry is the first step to making it better.’ Right?”

Cas returns Ben’s hug with just as much enthusiasm and he finds it hard to let go for a moment. He clears his throat before answering. “Actually, it was me that had to say sorry, but you’re right, Ben. It was the first step to making it better.”

“I knew it. Come on,” Ben insists, tugging Cas by the hand. “Me and Ash are making airplanes. I thought mine were good, but Ash can make a plane go so far it lands in the pool. Grandma Ellen was not happy.”

Cas lets himself be towed along behind Ben until he and Dean are standing on the deck with Ash. There’s a moment of awkward silence before Cas inclines his head. “Hello, Ash. That’s an impressive wingspan for a paper airplane,” he remarks, nodding at the plane in Ash’s hand.

“Good to see you, Cas,” Ash returns with a relieved grin. Despite Cas’ assurances the night before, the other man had clearly been worried that Cas wouldn’t accept his presence. “It’s a pretty elite trick, takes two pieces of paper, but I’m willing to pass on the secret for a friend of Ben’s.”

Ash and Ben just start to lay out papers on the table in a checkerboard pattern when Bobby calls across the yard. “Dean, come on in the house for a minute. Got some stuff I need you to take a look at.”

Dean glances warily at Cas and Ash, then back at Bobby, a deflection obviously forthcoming. “Go, Dean,” Cas says, squeezing his hand again. “We’re fine.”

“If you’re sure—”

“We got this,” Ash adds. “It’s all good.”

Despite their reassurances, Dean still seems reluctant to follow Bobby into the house. There is nothing for him to worry about, though. With Ben as a buffer and their previous differences put behind them, Cas finds that he actually likes Ash quite a bit. He’s funny, with a dry sarcastic sense of humor that often allows him to make racy jokes that go over Ben’s head.

“You better be careful,” Cas remarks when Ben runs down into the yard to retrieve a plane that Ash had flown perfectly onto the side tray of the grill where Jo is setting up for lunch. “It’s not going to be long before he understands those comments.”

Ash shoots him a cheeky grin and folds another plane. “I’m the cool uncle,” he announces, “it’s my job to be a bad influence.”

Cas shakes his head and hands him another piece of paper. “Incorrigible uncle, I think is what you meant,” he offers.

Ash shrugs. “Same difference.”

They’re still chuckling over the plane that Ash attempted to land in Jo’s hair when Dean returns from inside. Ash ducks, barely evading being clipped by the long-handled grill spatula Jo swings in his direction, then hoists Jo over his shoulder with a manic laugh. She beats ineffectively at his back as he hauls her toward the pool.

“He won’t really dump her in, will he?” Cas asks, wondering if someone should go help.

Dean looks distracted, but he chuckles softly when he replies, “He absolutely will, but don’t worry, Jo can hold her own.”

Sure enough, just as Ash is about to flip her over his shoulder into the pool, Jo hooks her legs around his waist and pulls him in with her. They both resurface sputtering water and a vicious skirmish of dunking occurs until Ellen yells at them from the open kitchen window. “Get your rear-ends in here and carry some of this food out, you knuckleheads.”

Ben skips after them as they drag themselves up the deck steps into the house, still sopping wet and bickering ferociously. Cas laughs at their clowning. Although he and Gabriel are close, they’ve never had that kind of relationship. He turns to comment on their antics but stops when he sees Dean chewing his lower lip. “What’s wrong?”

Dean takes a deep breath and holds out a piece of paper. It’s a photocopy of some kind of legal document. Cas skims it quickly, his eyes widening when he gets to the signatures on the second page. “He’s giving you the business?” Dean’s eyes are just as wide as Cas’.

“He officially split off the restoration business from Singer Salvage and named it Winchester Restorations. These papers give me controlling ownership, though Bobby is still a partner. He said there’s enough capital from the jobs I’ve done to keep us goin’ and hire two more guys just for the restoration side of things.” Dean’s hand shakes when he takes the papers back.

“I’m so proud of you, Dean. That’s amazing.”

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t deserve this. I can’t just take it from him.”

Cas wraps both arms around Dean’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss. “You do deserve it and you’re not taking it, you earned it with all the hard work you’ve put in. The cars you’ve restored have been amazing, Dean. Take it from a satisfied customer,” he adds with a grin.

As if his smile is infectious, Dean starts to smile and kisses Cas again, deepening the kiss until Cas almost forgets where they are.

Whooping, hollering, and a loud round of clapping startle them apart. Jess and Sam stand in the yard below the deck and Dean’s sister-in-law is wearing a big grin. “Solid eight, I think,” she offers brazenly. “You need to work on your technique if you expect to win this event, Winchester.”

Dean laughs as they separate and Cas calls over his shoulder. “Trust me, there’s nothing wrong with his technique. Perhaps you were too far away to judge fairly.” He leans in as if he’s going to pull Dean into another passionate kiss when a gagging noise interrupts.

“I’ve seen enough,” Sam says, punctuating his words with more retching. He follows his wife up the steps and claps one hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I don’t need to be up close for the patented Dean Winchester tonsillectomy.”

Sam and Jess are the just the first of the guests. By one o’clock, Garth and his fiancé, Bess, have arrived, as well as John, Benny, Andrea, and their children. Dean makes introductions and by the time lunch is over and the kids are splashing in the pool, it’s as if Cas has known them all for years. He never imagined he could feel so welcomed by a group of people. Not a single person even alluded to the recent problems between Dean and Cas, proving Dean’s point. He’s nice enough not to gloat.

“S’mores are a Winchester-Singer-Harvelle family tradition,” Dean announces when Cas turns down his offer of one of the sugary treats. Jo snatches it out of his hand before he can push it at Cas again. She takes a big bite, hissing as it burns her mouth.

“Shouldn’t that be Harvelle-Singer-Winchester family?” Ash asks, sliding another marshmallow off the stick by sandwiching it between two graham crackers. He adds a piece of chocolate and hands it to Isabelle, Benny and Andrea’s oldest daughter. Unlike Jo, the pre-teen blows on the dessert before taking a bite.

“Singer-Harvelle-Winchester?” Bobby adds, scooping another bite of Ellen’s apple pie and ice-cream into his mouth.

Dean looks around and laughs. “How about Winchester-Novak-Harvelle-Singer family?” he offers, tugging Cas in for a kiss. Even though he’s not quite comfortable with such a blatant display of public affection in front of Dean’s entire family, he goes along with it, breaking off before Dean can press his advantage and turn it into a dirtier kiss than belongs at a family function.

Jo makes a gagging noise. “Dean wins, only on account of how he made us all throw up in our mouths,” she announces, though she shoots Cas a wink and a smile before sauntering away.

Ash and Dean take turns making more s’mores until everyone who wants one has had two and the children are beyond hyper from the influx of sugar. Annie, no longer the Lafitte baby but still just as rambunctious as ever, tears off across the yard chasing her older sister. There’s a collective gasp when she bowls into Ben, sending his s’more flying into the freshly cut grass.

Cas starts to step forward, already anticipating the meltdown that is about to occur. Dean is right beside him and for a moment, Cas wonders if he should hold back and wait for Dean to handle it. Dean is Ben’s father, after all, not Cas.

In the end, it doesn’t matter because Ben just looks at his s’more laying in the grass and heaves a deep sigh. “You should say sorry, Annie,” he says gravely, helping the preschooler back to her feet. Before Ben can ask, Ash is already at the grill offering to make him a new one.

Dean reaches for Cas’ hand and tugs him in so that he can wrap his arm around Cas’ shoulder. “That’s all because of you, Cas,” he says, leaning his head to press against Cas’. “Everything you’ve done for him.”

Cas turns to press a kiss to Dean’s temple. “No, Dean. It’s everything _we’ve_ done for him and everything he’s done for himself.” Dean doesn’t argue the point.

The family gatherings that Cas remembers were stilted and uncomfortable. Rooms full of people surreptitiously checking their watches and phones to see if they were free to make a polite excusal. It’s no wonder, then, that Cas is surprised when the day passes so quickly that twilight falls before Cas realizes that they’ve been there for over eight hours.

At some point throughout the day, he’s spoken to every member of Dean’s extended family and has found that he likes them all. Sweet, genuine Garth; loud, boisterous Benny; coolly elegant Andrea; sarcastic and quick-witted Jess. Even John, when he isn’t attempting to intimidate, has a dry sense of humor and far more intelligent opinions on things than he normally lets on. All in all, it’s been one of the most pleasant days Cas can remember passing.

Ash, Dean, Bobby, and John are arguing by the garage when Cas comes back outside from using the restroom. “Don’t worry,” Sam says, stepping up next to him. “None of them have actually lit anyone on fire yet. Though it was a near thing a couple of times when we were kids.”

Cas chuckles. “At least I know John hasn’t been drinking.”

Sam scoffs loudly, eyeing the beer Ash still holds in one hand. “Yeah, he’s the only one, but even sober my dad is no less reckless than the rest of them. He’s got a second degree burn on his leg from a rocket that went sideways four years ago.”

Giving him the side-eye, Cas retorts, “I thought you said none of them have been lit on fire?”

Sam shrugs flippantly. “He wasn’t actually on fire.”

Not sure whether Sam is being serious or not, since it’s hard to tell in Dean’s family, Cas wanders a little farther away from where they’re still arguing. Although he trusts that Dean wouldn’t do anything truly dangerous, he’s not sure he needs to actually see it happen.

“Oh, good, fresh meat.”

Cas turns to see Andrea walking toward him, baby Angelica held out in front of her. “I have to pee so bad and the baby bladder doesn’t hold things in like it used to,” she says bluntly, thrusting the swaddled infant into Cas’ arms. Before Cas can question her decision to trust him with her baby, she disappears around him and into the house.

He pushes the blanket away from her sweet, chubby face and grins down at her. She weighs next to nothing in his arms even though Dean said that she’s almost six months old. A rocket screeches through the night, exploding into a bouquet of sparks above the house, but the baby doesn’t even flinch. There’s something about the way she relaxes against him, sure that she is loved and cared for and nothing bad will happen, that makes it hard for Cas to catch his breath.

“She looks good in your arms.”

Cas looks up to see Dean watching him from a few feet away, an odd expression on his face. He steps closer and reaches out to move the blanket so he can look down at her. “I like babies, but I really haven’t had much experience with them. They’re usually a bit older by the time I get them,” Cas admits.

“I can't imagine what it would have been like growing up without Sammy around.”

Cas looks up and Dean meets his gaze earnestly. Cas holds his breath for a moment before letting it out slowly.

“I wonder sometimes if Ben shouldn’t have a brother or sister.”

Cas’ eyes widen, but Dean doesn’t flinch or look away. It’s every dream that he’s had, the ones that Michael held out to him and he tossed back in his face, standing right in front of him. He looks down at the baby in his arms and back at Dean. Cas swallows hard and nods. “That’s, ah, that’s something we could definitely talk about,” he manages. It’s worth it for the look on Dean’s face.  


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As grateful as I am to anyone who reads this monster that has taken up most of life for the last year, I want to give extra special thanks to those of you who followed this story as a WIP. Your feedback kept me going when I was struggling and made me excited to post a new chapter every week. Keep an eye out here. I've got a couple other things in the works over the next few months but don't be surprised if some timestamps pop up every now and then. I don't think there's any way I can leave these guys forever.
> 
> On that note, I've been thinking about commissioning some artwork to go along with this story as a present to myself for finishing it. If you have any ideas about which scenes you'd like to see captured or suggestions for artists that do commissions, leave me a comment here or drop me a message on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jhanamay).

Cas shrugs off the light blue cardigan and puts it back on the hanger with a sigh. Shirt number four and nothing feels right, either too casual or too stuffy or just not the look he’s going for. If he knew what look he was going for, which he doesn’t. It’s maddening. He pulls another shirt off the hanger and slips it on before walking out into the bedroom.

Dean is still sprawled across the bed, looking effortlessly sexy in a white short-sleeve chambray with dark brown chinos. It’s as dressed-up as Dean gets. He makes a face when Cas comes out with yet another long-sleeve dress shirt. “You’re gonna roast to death in long sleeves, man. It’s almost ninety out there.”

“I’m just not sure what would be right,” he responds plaintively. He pulls the shirt off before turning back to the closet.

Dean is off the bed and gathering Cas against his chest before he can disappear back through the door. He runs one hand soothingly up Cas’ back, fingertips catching against the white undershirt, and drops a kiss on Cas’ forehead. “Do you trust me?”

Cas doesn’t have to think before nodding. Of course, he’s never had to trust Dean with fashion decisions before. Considering that ninety percent of Dean’s wardrobe consists of jeans, t-shirts, and plaid flannel, it’s not a situation Cas ever thought he’d find himself in.

Vague muttering and the clack of hangers accompanies Dean’s rummaging through the closet. He emerges holding a short-sleeve burgundy linen shirt and holds it up to Cas’ chest. The color is striking with his black jeans, but he knows that the sleeves are short enough that not only will the tattoos on his wrists be visible, so will the bottoms of the wings on his triceps. He frowns and raises worried eyes to Dean’s.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Dean cuts him off before he can express his hesitation. “They’re a part of you, babe. You don’t need to hide them.” He runs one hand slowly up the back of Cas’ arm until his fingers curl over the bottoms of the stylized feathers. “And it doesn’t hurt that they’re sexy as hell,” he adds with a boyish grin and a wink. He drops his head to nose against the side of Cas’ neck, lips tracing over the veins there.

Cas can’t help but smile. “I’ve just gotten so used to covering them, I guess.”

“Well, you don’t have to. Anyway, you’re supposed to be all cool and hipster today. Nothing cooler than tats. Show ‘em off and you’ll fit right in.”

“If you say so.” Cas shrugs the shirt on, but before he can button it, Dean knocks his hands away and takes over. There’s something just as arousing about Dean doing the buttons up as there is when he’s undoing them.

When he’s finished, Dean straightens Cas’ collar and tugs him in for a more thorough kiss. Cas is panting softly when Dean finally releases him, but Dean just licks his lips and smiles. “All night I’m gonna be thinkin’ about gettin’ you back out of that shirt. Can’t wait.” He walks out of the room and down the stairs without waiting to see if Cas is following; as if he didn’t just make Cas’ knees weak.

Cas turns to study himself in the mirror. Dean was certainly right about this shirt. The contrast of the dark shirt with the black pants is striking and sets off his stubbled jaw and tousled hair. Dean had insisted that he not shave this morning and had run his hands through Cas’ hair several times when they got out of the shower. Given the way Dean had shoved him back against the bathroom door and kissed him while his hands tugged on the strands, _sex hair_ isn’t far off.

The thick black outlines of the lotus and Eye of Ra on his wrists catch his attention and he traces his fingertips over the ink before turning to see how much of the wings are  visible. The bottom four inches of feathers peek out of his shirt sleeves. He certainly doesn’t go out of his way to cover them while he’s jogging in the summertime or working in the yard, but having them bare at an event where he will be the center of attention makes him squeamish. He takes a deep breath and follows Dean downstairs before he can change his mind.

Dean is standing in the kitchen when Cas reaches the bottom of the stairs, his phone tucked against his ear. “Yeah, he’s coming home with us tonight, so make sure you’ve got everything. Thanks again for keeping him last night.”

Despite his jitters about tonight, Cas’ stomach warms pleasantly at the way Dean says _home with us_ so casually. In the two months since school ended, they haven’t slept apart more than a handful of times, equally splitting their nights between the two houses. While Cas would be happy to move in together, Dean isn’t quite ready to take that step. Either way, home has rapidly become wherever Dean and Ben are.

“Sam and Jess are going to meet us there,” Dean explains when he ends the call. “Ben was throwing a fit that he’s going to miss it so Sam had to download the flyer from the website to show him that it doesn’t start until seven even though we’re going early.” Dean chuckles and pulls Cas in for another kiss though he’s careful to hold himself back so that he doesn’t wrinkle Cas’ shirt.

Although Dean is normally affectionate, he’s been extra physical today as if he’s trying to give Cas constant reassurance. It’s definitely appreciated. Cas can’t forget that there will likely be dozens of people wanting to touch him tonight and the thought makes his stomach clench uncomfortably. Having Dean by his side may be the only thing that helps him make it through.

“We should get going,” he says, stepping away to smooth his hands down the front of his shirt nervously. “Patty said she wanted us all there by six so the media has time for pictures and interviews.” While Cas doesn’t mind having his picture taken, the thought of being interviewed is almost as nerve-wracking as being touched.

Dean drives, effortlessly guiding the Impala through the small neighborhood streets and out onto the highway into Lawrence proper while Cas tries to control his breathing. The drive to the gallery is only twenty minutes, but Cas can feel his heart rate increasing the closer they get to Massachusetts Street. Dean parks farther down the street from where they parked the first time Cas brought him to _Signs of Life_. It isn’t surprising that the historic district is packed with people on such a beautiful July day.

“Breathe,” Dean directs, taking Cas’ hand as they backtrack to the gallery. He draws small circles on the inside of Cas’ wrist with his thumb, the repetitive motion grounding Cas. “You’re gonna to be awesome and everyone will see how amazing and super talented my boyfriend is.” He shoots Cas a wide, disarming grin.

“And that’s the important thing, right?” Cas retorts dryly, pulling the door open. Dean grabs the door with one hand and holds it open for Cas to enter the bright, airy storefront ahead of him.

“Of course. Don’t you know it’s all about me?”

Cas gives him an amused look but doesn’t answer. His attention is taken up by the changes to the café since the last time they were there. The downstairs of the gallery is still just as welcoming, but the artwork has been switched out from winter scenes to beaches and summer picnics. The tops of the bookshelves are a riot of colorful blooms that trail over the edges and the simple changes transform the café.

“Castiel,” Patty calls out warmly from where she stands near the bakery counter. As usual, she looks effortlessly elegant in a silk pantsuit, her silver hair pulled up into a French braid. “The other artists are upstairs chatting with the media people.”

Cas’ stomach tightens painfully. “Are there a lot of them?”

Patty shrugs flippantly. “Two or three photographers and a half dozen writers from various blogs and local magazines. Nothing more than usual.”

Cas sighs. “I’m not usually here for this part,” he reminds her.

She laughs, the sound light and amused. “Darling, it's nothing to worry about. They’ll just take a few pictures and ask a couple questions. You need to relax, my dear. Your work is stunning. They’re going to love you.”

They follow Patty to the staircase and begin the ascent to the second-floor gallery. Dean rests his hands lightly on Cas’ hips from behind as they climb, the contact reassuring. He doesn’t recognize most of the work scattered around the gallery, but it’s incredibly odd to see his paintings among them. One that shows his mother’s gardens hangs directly ahead and Cas swallows thickly when he sees it.

“Look at that. Front and center,” Dean murmurs, leaning over to brush a reassuring kiss across Cas’ cheek. “Have I told you how fucking proud I am of you?” His words are a whisper only for Cas.

Cas’ face heats up at his praise. “Just every day.”

“Then I’ll start telling you twice a day.” Dean reaches for Cas’ hand and squeezes it reassuringly as they approach the cluster of people gathered under the large window on the far side of the room.

The three other artists are already there. The two women look self-conscious under the attention of the photographers and the onslaught of questions, but the man preens with it. He’s slightly taller than Cas, about Dean’s height, and his strong jawline is covered by dark scruff that matches his spiked hair. His eyes are a piercing blue when he looks over at Cas and smiles.

“I’m going to leave you in their capable hands,” Patty says with a gracious nod to the others. She lays one hand on Dean’s forearm and looks up at him. “But I’m going to borrow your young man for a moment,” she adds with a smile. Cas can’t imagine what Patty could want with Dean, but he doesn’t have a chance to speculate when he’s quickly swept up into a photo with the other artists.

The questions aren’t invasive or particularly difficult to answer, focusing mostly on his education, inspiration, and technique. There are only a few about his personal life, but they’re respectful and Cas knows that they’re only to add a personal touch to the biographies. His fellow artists are asked the same questions. The women, who are both married, answer candidly but with a polite reserve, but the other man is gregarious, all wide flirtatious smiles and mild innuendo. Cas is taken aback by his manner.

Once the interviews are over, the artists are arranged for yet another group photo. Cas tenses when strong hands grip his hips. “Don’t worry, I’m not hitting on you,” Colin murmurs, shifting into position next to Cas. The mixed-media artist’s grip is loose and high enough to be just on the forgivable side of too friendly, but the way his broad chest brushes against Cas’ arm contradicts his words. “Well, I mean, I am, but I’m not particularly interested in getting decked by your boyfriend so it’s all in fun.” His tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying edge that suggests that he’d be willing to overlook Dean if Cas would.

Cas shifts so that the man’s hands fall away, giving him a dry scowl over his shoulder. The lingering warmth of the contact is like an uncomfortable buzz under his skin.

“Aww, don’t be that way,” Colin teases with another laugh. “I was just being friendly.” He’s young, no more than in his late twenties, and his easy manner reminds Cas of Michael in a way. He exudes a relaxed confidence that Cas has never mastered.

The photographers shift them to the other side of the women and Cas takes the opportunity to mutter, “I get the feeling your friendliness gets you in trouble.”

Colin shrugs his wide shoulders and brushes the edges of his blazer back from his hips when the photographer directs him. Though his clothes are just a shade too messy to be considered formal, he wears them with the cool self-assurance of a man who knows that he’s good looking. “Sometimes,” he agrees with another of his boyishly charming smiles. “But it works out just as often, so I figure it’s a worthwhile risk.  Can’t let a chance to get my hands on a hot a guy pass without going for it.”

“And how often do you get punched for it?” Cas asks incredulously when the photographers finally announce that they’re finished, ignoring Colin’s unexpected compliment. He takes a step away from where Colin is still lingering too close to be appropriate.

Another shrug but his smile is no less wide. “Couple times a month.” He narrows his eyes. “You’re not going to punch me, are you?”

Cas looks past him to where Dean has re-emerged from wherever he disappeared to with Patty. He’s watching them with a vaguely amused expression that suggests that he knows exactly what is happening. “No, but I suggest you take a step back before Dean takes offense,” he says, casting his eyes over Colin’s shoulder.

Colin turns and chuckles at the way Dean is crossing the gallery purposefully. “Okay, okay, I can take a hint. I’ll just go mingle a little,” he says with a wink, slipping away into the crowd.

“You okay?” Dean slides one hand possessively around Cas’ bicep even though Colin has disappeared.

“One of my fellow artists is very friendly.”

Dean raises one eyebrow. “I saw. Do I need to defend your honor or anything?” He says it with a chuckle, but the glint in his eye indicates that he’s serious.

“He’s just flirtatious.”

Dean makes a noise low in his throat and leans in to brush his lips over Cas’ temple. “You seem tense.”

Cas sighs and leans into the contact, letting it settle and ground him. “It’s a lot to take in. A year ago I hardly ever showed my paintings to people and now I’m getting ready to stand around while strangers gawk at them. It’s overwhelming.”

When Patty first asked him about displaying some of his paintings at the gallery, he had immediately turned her down. The thought of people he doesn’t know looking at his art makes his skin crawl. Dean, though, wouldn’t let it go. He casually brought it up, pushed and prodded without being abrasive, until Cas finally warmed to the idea. Standing here now, under the cool lights, he’s sorry he did.

Dean seems to read Cas’ mood and can tell how close to the edge Cas is. “Let’s take a walk and relax before people start gettin’ here. Sam texted me a bit ago to say they’re on their way.” He tightens his grip on Cas’ arm and pulls him across the gallery before he can protest.

Cas stumbles along behind Dean as he leads him through the gallery and down a hallway at the back. “I don’t think we should be back here, Dean. This is the offices and storage rooms.”

Dean throws a grin over his shoulder. “Relax. I know what I’m doin’.” He picks a door seemingly at random and turns the knob, giving Cas a sly smile when it opens. Cas only has a moment to look around to see if anyone is watching before Dean pulls him through the door and closes it firmly behind them.

The room is clearly an office, with a large mahogany desk that holds a sleek computer, a Tiffany lamp, and a picture frame showing Patty and her husband. “Dean,” Cas hisses sharply. “This is Patty’s office. We shouldn’t be in here.”

Dean doesn’t respond, just crowds Cas back against the door. “Relax,” he repeats, dipping to trail a series of feather-light kisses across Cas’ jaw. The warm, teasing suction heats Cas from the inside, drawing a slight gasp. When Dean reaches his ear, he raises his head to tug the lobe between his teeth. “We’re just takin’ a moment to unwind you a bit.”

Cas’ protest is a breathy whisper when Dean rocks forward, pressing until his whole body is one hard, hot line pinning Cas to the door. “Dean,” he tries again urgently, but he’s cut off when Dean covers his mouth with a kiss that goes from teasing to filthy within seconds.

It would take a stronger man than Cas not to respond to the insistent thrusting of Dean’s tongue or the way Dean’s hands come up to cup Cas’ jaw so that he can manhandle him into the kiss. When Dean rocks his hips forward in a slow, dirty grind, Cas isn’t particularly surprised to feel that they’re both half hard. Still ravaging Cas’ mouth, Dean slides one hand down Cas’ chest, not seeming to notice the shock of arousal that goes through Cas when he ghosts fingertips over one nipple.

The reality of the show and the people milling about just down the hall fades as Cas’ body coils with heat under Dean’s hands. Dean swallows the groan he releases when that one clever hand dips lower to cup Cas through his pants. He strokes the pad of his thumb over the hard length of Cas’ cock, squeezing the head lightly between his fingers as he continues to hold Cas at his mercy with one strong hand on his jaw.

“Dean, we can’t,” he manages when Dean finally releases his mouth to suck wetly down his neck to the open collar of his shirt. Cas whimpers softly when Dean’s tongue flicks against the hollow of his throat. This is ridiculous. No matter how good it feels, they can’t do this in Patty’s office with soon-to-be-dozens of people just down the hall. He opens his mouth to try to talk some sense into Dean.

Whatever he was about to say is immediately lost when Dean fluidly sinks to his knees. He presses his cheek to Cas’ crotch, tilting his head slightly to look up at Cas from under his lashes. The look in his eyes is scorching. “Just gonna take your mind off things for a bit,” he murmurs, running one hand up the inside of Cas’ thigh. Cas thinks he’s going to stop when he reaches the juncture, but he keeps going, hand a hot pressure against Cas’ dick until he’s tugging at the zipper.

No matter how wildly inappropriate this is, he can’t find it in himself to lodge any more protests when Dean tugs the zipper down and pulls Cas’ cock out, his hand wrapping around the length and giving a firm but gentle stroke. Pleasure streaks through him, punching out a harsh groan when Dean leans forward to suckle gently at the tip. He wraps his hand firmly around the base, lazily stroking the length that he’s not taking into his mouth.

Cas tears his eyes away from watching his dick slide smoothly in and out of Dean’s mouth and lets his head fall back against the door with a thud. “My god, Dean, that feels so good, I can’t—” He cuts off with a ragged moan when Dean slips his hand around to grab Cas’ ass and rocks his hips forward and back until he’s thrusting into Dean’s mouth.

Dean moans, the vibrations sending shockwaves skittering over Cas’ skin, and begins to suck more noisily. When he releases his grip, Cas continues the motion. Without conscious thought, one hand drops to curl in Dean’s hair and he presses Dean forward at the same time as he thrusts, back arching in pleasure when the sensitive head of his cock hits the back of Dean’s throat. He’s about to pull back when Dean swallows, his throat constricting around the head, and moans again. There’s no mistaking what Dean wants.

Settling both hands firmly on Dean’s head, he holds Dean in place and sets up a punishing rhythm, bottoming out in Dean’s throat with every stroke. The pleasure spirals higher and higher until Cas has to raise one hand to bite down on it in an effort to stifle the noises he can’t stop making.

He leans forward to watch as he pumps his cock in and out of Dean’s mouth. The sight is more than he can bear. His hips stutter and it’s there, pleasure white-hot crests like waves moving over him as he comes down Dean’s throat. Only the thought of the people less than twenty feet away keeps him from screaming with the release.

Dean sucks him through it, swallowing reflexively while continuing to nuzzle his softening dick even after Cas falls back against the door bonelessly. He clamps his eyes shut and tries to slow his breathing, eventually pushing Dean away when the stimulation becomes too much.

Dean’s expression is smug as he rises to his feet, hands gentle on Cas’ hips. He leans in for a kiss and Cas groans eagerly into it, chasing the taste of himself on Dean’s tongue. “You’re horrible,” Cas huffs with a small laugh when they finally break apart. Dean is right, though, the endorphins coursing through him leave him loose and calm.

Dean smiles, cocky and sure. “The worst,” he agrees, pulling a piece of peppermint gum out of his pocket. He unwraps it slowly then pops it into his mouth, chewing with an exaggerated motion. “But it worked. Look how relaxed you are. Might have to carry you back out there.”

Cas huffs a laugh. “I can’t believe you did that.” He winces slightly as Dean gently tucks him back into his pants and does them up.

Dean steps back and studies Cas’ clothes for a moment. He makes a few adjustments before looking up. “Didn’t like the way the guy was lookin’ at you,” he grumbles in mock irritation.

Shaking his head fondly, Cas pulls him in for another light kiss. “Hmmm,” he teases, “Jealousy ends in public blowjobs. I’ll have to mark that down.”

“I’d give you something worth marking down, but I believe you have an adoring public to get back to. That was just a preview of the main event later tonight.” A wink is all the further explanation Cas gets before Dean pulls the door open and leads them back down the hallway into the gallery.

There are dozens of people already crowding the mellowly lit space. Jess, Sam, Ellen, and Ben are standing in the far corner in front of a painting. From the look on Ben’s face, Cas can guess which one it is. They start to weave through the crowd but are stopped by Patty. “Feeling better, I assume?” she says with a light laugh.

Could she possibly know what they just did? Cas feels his cheeks heat up and he stammers an apology, “Yes, I, ah, we were just—”

“Castiel,” she cuts him off smoothly. “No need to explain.” She leans in closer so that her words are a throaty rasp in his ear. “Who do you think told Dean where my office is?”

Cas jerks back with a gasp, eyes flying to her face. She winks broadly and slinks into the crowd with a small smirk. Dean’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as he leads Cas across the room.

The entire family is so enthralled with the painting in front them that they don’t notice Cas and Dean until they’re stopping beside them. Jess turns to them with a huge smile. Even eight months pregnant, Jess is still beautiful and bubbling with energy. “This is just amazing, Cas,” she gushes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was done from a photograph.”

Cas glances at the painting in front of them. It’s large, almost three feet wide, and perfectly sized for the wall beside Ben’s bed at his house. A small tag in the lower corner indicates that it isn’t for sale. “It was done from photographs to a point. Dean let me borrow a few to use as references,” he admits, glancing back at Dean. Although Dean knew what he was working on, this is the first time he’s seeing the finished painting. If the look on his face is any indication, he’s pleased with the results.

“It’s mommy,” Ben says, coming to stand between them. “You painted a picture of me and daddy and mommy?”

Cas looks up at the painting. It shows a sunny summer day in a field of wildflowers. A blanket is spread on the ground arranged with the remains of a picnic. Lisa is there, ethereal and beautiful in a white sundress. Ben, as he is now and as Lisa never got to see him, reclines against her lap while Dean sits beside them, his head thrown back in laughter. Although Lisa is smiling as well, there is something almost melancholy about the scene.

“It’s amazing, Cas. Better than I could have even imagined,” Dean says, voice raw with emotion. He’d been skeptical throughout the process, unsure whether it would upset Ben. He reaches down to pick Ben up so he can see better, then swipes one hand down his face. “It looks just like her.”

“I wanted it to be something that you could look at and remember her,” Cas responds, pulling them both into a hug. “Something to remind me what a gift she’s given me.” He brushes his lips across the top of Ben’s head.

“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. He mingles and talks with people, Dean always at his side. When the constant barrage of patrons wanting to shake his hand becomes too much, Dean whisks him away to the back hallway to allow him to catch his breath for a few moments. By the end of the evening, he has sold four paintings and Dean has taken down the contact information for two people who want to discuss commissions. His head is spinning.

He remembers sitting in Michael’s dingy little apartment, sketching while Michael played the guitar. They talked about their dreams, fantasies of Michael hitting it big with his band while people came from all over to buy Cas’ paintings. Dreams he hasn’t thought about in years. Dreams that he thought died with their relationship.

Across the room, Dean and Ben stand in front of a black and white photograph of a carnival while Ellen talks with Marissa, the petite photographer. The dreams didn’t die. They’re right there, embodied in two people who have given him back all of the parts of himself he thought he’d lost along the way. He takes a moment to thank whatever deities might be listening, then walks across the room to join them.

* * *

* * *

The timer dings and Dean turns to pull another tray of bacon-wrapped mini hot dogs out of the oven. He passes them off to Ellen and turns the oven off. That was the last of the food. Cas’ oven cooks at a slightly different temperature than his, so it has taken some getting used to. Dean stops. Not Cas’ oven. _His_ oven and his oven is now John’s. That is going to take even more getting used to.

“How is Ben settlin’ in?” Ellen asks, plating the food then sliding the tray into the dishwasher. Though Cas still likes to wash dishes by hand, the dishwasher has gotten more use in the last two weeks than it probably has since Cas has lived here.

“Not too bad. He had nightmares the first couple nights, but the intercom system we installed really helps. Now he can just push a button and talk to us instead of comin’ clear up the stairs.”

Ellen nods with a small smile. “And how are you settlin’ in?”

Dean grins wider. “You know, I thought it would be weird, livin’ with someone again, but it really isn’t. I’m just glad we don’t have to drag ourselves back and forth anymore. There for a while I was feelin’ like I know how the kids of divorced parents feel. No matter where we were, there was somethin’ at the other house we needed.”

“John had Bobby over last night to watch some pre-season football or somethin’. He was complaining about you taking the giant TV.” She glances up at where his flatscreen is mounted above the fireplace in the living room.

Dean chuckles. “I left him the entertainment center. He can get his own giant TV. He’s got a garage now and a roof that doesn’t leak. He should be happy.”

She picks up two of the trays and hands them to Dean before taking the third and they walk through the back door into the yard. The normally empty space is crammed with tables, chairs, and people. Music plays from the stereo system Garth is manning in the corner, a mix of classic rock and early nineties alt-grunge.

The throngs of people gathered are just as much a mixture of their lives together as the music. As he and Ellen carry the trays to the table, they pass Benny and Andrea, Cole Trenton and Jody Mills, Kali and Gabriel, as well as Jolene, Candace, Justin, and Allie. It seems like everyone they know is packed into their backyard for the dual housewarming/back-to-school party.

“Great shindig,” Charlie announces, stealing a hot dog from the tray before he can set it on the table. She pops it into her mouth with a grin.

“Hey, glad you could make it.” He scoots other platters around until he can set the tray down, then wraps her in a hug.

“Are you kidding me? I practically helped orchestrate this match. Being here to celebrate it is the least I could do.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but she kind of has a point. With all the ups and downs over the last year, nearly every person here has had a hand in helping him and Cas either get together or stay together. Maybe this should be a thank you party. “No pretty girl on your arm today?” he says instead, not completely comfortable thinking about the amount of help they’ve needed to get to this point.

“Nah, leaving the door open in case there are any eligible bachelorettes here today,” she returns with a grin that almost immediately clouds. “Honestly, though, everything with Dorothy really wore me out. Not sure I’m ready to jump back on the horse just yet.”

Dean hugs her closer and rubs one hand across her shoulder. Although they had never officially declared themselves _together_ , the breakup had been brutal even from the sidelines. It’s odd to see Charlie so subdued, but he’s glad she’s not burying herself in nachos and _Dr. Who_ marathons. “Come on, there’s the moms from school. I’ll introduce you.”

Candace and Jolene are standing near the play structure watching Ben and the other children. It had taken two days and three loads in John’s truck, but they had successfully transferred Ben’s swingset to Cas’ back yard. Other than his toys and books, it was the most important part of the move for Ben. Today, the play structure is a riot of children, including Ben’s friends from school, Andrea and Benny’s girls, and several neighborhood children.

He stops beside the women, watching with a smile as Juliet runs from child to child, barking but never jumping or getting too rough. He has spent so long anxious about every interaction Ben has with other kids that it’s nice to sit back and trust the circle of friends he has connected with.

It turns out that even though Candance and Jolene have never met Charlie, they know exactly who she is. “Justin talks about you all the time,” Candace shares with a laugh. “He calls you the magic teacher. He went on for an hour one night about your wands.”

“All fake, I assure you,” Charlie beams. “I have a full collection of wands from Harry Potter on display in the computer lab and a sorting hat. We have a good time sorting the kids into houses the first week of school.”

“Oh, I love Harry Potter,” Candace exclaims, her eyes lighting up. “I cosplayed at the Kansas City comic con as Bellatrix Lestrange in college. It was a blast.”

“Oh my god, what year? I might have seen you there.” Charlie’s voice takes on the high-pitched strained quality it gets when she’s excited.

“This would have been in, maybe, 2006? I think it was the first one. My girlfriend at the time went as Tonks. We had so much fun,” Candace bubbles with a wide grin. “We had a whole Elder Scrolls thing planned for the following year, but we broke up over the summer and Justin's father wasn’t into that whole scene so I never went back.”

Charlie squeals excitedly. “I was definitely there that year. In 2012, I went as a Golden Saint. It was epic.” She moves closer, turning the full power of her charm on the other woman. Dean bites back a smile as he wanders away. So much for not being ready to get back on the horse.

It takes forever to make his way across the yard to where Cas is talking with Sam, Jess, Gabe, and Kali. Dean isn’t surprised at all that the four of them have picked back up with the easy camaraderie they shared at Christmas. “I’m not sure I even want to know what that is,” Jess is saying in a shocked voice when he walks up.

“Gabriel, behave yourself,” Cas reprimands sharply. His face is a bright crimson, suggesting that Gabe has made one of his usual inappropriate sexual references. Kali just rolls her eyes affectionately, but Sam and Jess both laugh. Dean is pretty sure he doesn’t want to know what Gabe said.

“How was your flight in?” Dean asks, bending to kiss Kali on the temple. “Sorry we couldn’t pick you up from the airport.”

“It was as long and boring as usual,” Kali responds. “Sam and Jess have been lovely company this morning so there is absolutely nothing to be sorry about. It’s nice to see Castiel’s house become a home.”

“My little bro needs someone around to shake him up a bit. Guess if I had to pick, might as well be you, Dean-o.” Gabe leans back in his chair and snags a bottle of beer off the tray Jo carries as she passes.

“Hey, go get your own, asshole,” she gripes, turning back to slap him on the arm. “I’m not at work today.”

“You must just have the serving wench in your blood or something,” he retorts, popping the cap off and taking a long swallow.

“Gabriel!” Cas’ voice is shocked, but Dean just lays a reassuring arm on his shoulder. If there is anyone who doesn’t need someone to stand up for her to Gabe, it’s Jo.

She leans in, her eyes narrowed. “Maybe,” she agrees sweetly, keeping his eyes on her while she works the cap off a bottle behind his head. “I have no problem serving dumbasses what they deserve.” She tips the bottle forward with a flick of her wrist and the content pours over the edge of the tray onto Gabe’s head.

“You’re all a bunch of traitors,” he splutters, yanking away before the entire bottle empties on him. Laughter erupts and even Kali giggles as the suds drip out of his beard.

Kali pulls the napkin from under her plate and dabs unhelpfully at the beer still dripping from his hair. The tiny scrap of paper isn’t doing much. “To be fair, dear, you completely deserved that.”

In an uncharacteristic show of goodwill, Jo snags a towel from the chair behind her and passes it to him. “That will teach you to watch your mouth, Gabe. You forget, I grew up with Ash and these assholes.”

“Seriously. I’m sitting over here without a beer for almost nine months now and you’re over there wasting perfectly good IPA. That’s some kind of crime,” Jess grouses good-naturedly.

“It will be worth it, though. An experience I would love to have,” Kali responds wistfully, eyes trailing to Jess’ stomach.

“You and Gabe aren’t having kids?”

Kali pats Gabe on the leg. “Oh, I don’t think that we are cut out to be parents. Between the long hours Gabriel works and my travel, it just wouldn’t be fair to a child.” She sounds resigned, but there’s still a hint of longing in her voice.

Gabe wraps the towel around his head like a turban and takes another swallow of his beer. “You should be a surrogate or something. Rent that beautiful womb out and then we’ll just pass the rugrats onto Cassio. Ben’s lookin’ old enough to be a great big brother.”

It’s just harmless teasing, Dean knows it is. Taking anything Gabe says seriously is a recipe for disaster. He can’t help it, though, when his eyes flick to Cas’. He isn’t looking at Dean, though. His eyes are pinned on Kali, wide and startled.

Dean expects Kali to laugh off Gabe’s words but she doesn’t response. Instead, she turns her head slowly to meet Dean’s eyes speculatively. Holy shit. Dean and Cas just moved in together two weeks ago, he’s certainly not ready for a conversation about renting out Kali’s womb to make another Winchester-Novak. He clears his throat, but Jess takes pity on him and changes the subject before he has a chance.

Dean figures he should probably feel guilty for bailing as soon as the conversation picks back up around him, but he really doesn’t. He’s still wrapping his head around the fact that this is his house now, that he and Cas are together for the long term. Babies are certainly not something he’s prepared to contemplate.

He wanders for a while, talking a little bit with each knot of people he passes. Who would have thought that he and Cas have so many friends? It’s both startling and a little humbling how many people came to celebrate this new chapter of their lives.

Although they’d been kicking around the idea of moving in together all summer, Dean was dragging his feet. It seemed like a huge step, especially with Ben to consider. While Dean had mostly gotten over his fear of waking up one day and somehow massively screwing things up with Cas, the latent unease lingered. Cas was patient, never pushing Dean too fast, but it was clear that he had no reservations about taking the next step in their relationship.

Despite Dean’s willingness to spend almost every night with Cas, regardless of which house they were at, it wasn’t until a tree branch fell and did major damage to the roof on John’s trailer that Cas managed to find a way to push Dean to confront his fear. In retrospect, it made perfect sense. John’s trailer was uninhabitable until the roof was fixed and his landlord didn’t seem to be in much hurry to make it happen. Instead, letting John take over the mortgage on Dean’s little house while Dean and Ben moved in with Cas solved everyone’s issues. While he may have been reluctant at first, he’s never been happier than he’s been for the last two weeks. Spending every day with Cas has definitely been worth it.

Meandering through the yard, he spots his father sitting off to the side by himself. “Hey, old man. You gettin’ tired out already? Time for your afternoon nap?” Dean teases, dropping into the chair next to him.

“Ha ha, I raised a real comedian.” He inclines his head toward where Ben and the kids are playing. “He sure looks happy.”

Dean follows his gaze and smiles. “Yeah. He does. That little girl lives two doors down. He just met her last week and they’re already friends. He’s like a different kid from a year ago.”

“He ain’t the only one.”

Dean raises both brows in question.

“You’re different too. More relaxed, happier. It’s a good look on you, son.”

Dean twists back around to face John with a smile. “Cas brings it out of me. You doin’ okay at the house? No problems?”

John chuckles. “Only problem is that my tiny TV looks like a dwarf on that giant entertainment stand.”

“Give it up, dad. You’re not gettin’ my TV. Maybe now that you’re not dumpin’ money into that shithole, you can save up and get yourself a nice 55-inch.”

John clamps one hand on Dean’s shoulder. Although there’s still humor in his eyes, his tone is serious. “You know I appreciate this, right? Havin’ a house again, it’s, I guess I never thought it was somethin’ I’d get to have, after everything I put you boys through.”

Dean lays his hand on top of John’s and squeezes. “You deserve it. That’s all in the past. One thing the past year has taught me is that you gotta take the changes when they come. Holdin’ on too tight to the past doesn’t work out for anyone.”

They lapse into a companionable silence until Dean notices Missouri sitting with Ellen and Bobby against the fence on the other side of the yard. “Anyway, movin’ you into the house means I don’t gotta worry about lookin’ out for your dumb ass anymore. Now that Missouri won’t be watching Ben anymore, she’ll still have her hands full with you. You can take over shovelin’ and doin’ the stuff I won’t be around to do for her anymore. Perfect arrangement.”

John smiles, but it’s crooked and doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “You know I’d take it all back, everything I put you through. Lookin’ out for my dumb ass cost you a lot, Dean, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Stop. It’s done and in the past. I don’t have any regrets and you shouldn’t either. Everything that happened, all the mistakes you think you made, they led me to this life. Look around, dad. I’ve got everything I ever wanted. It might not be what I thought I’d have twenty years ago, or fifteen, or hell, even five, but it's mine. Ben and Cas are mine because of the choices you made. There’s nothin’ in that you should apologize for.” He takes a long swallow of his beer to loosen his tight throat.

John is quiet for a moment, then murmurs softly. “Your mom would be real proud of your life, son. She’d love Cas and Ben and this family you made for yourself.”

There’s an ache in Dean’s chest that will never fade when he thinks of his mother, her long blond hair glowing in the sunlight coming through the kitchen window. He remembers his father coming home from a day at the garage and sweeping her into his arms, twirling her around the kitchen while she laughed and beat him on the back with her dish towel. “Maybe it’s time for you to let go of the past too, dad. You don’t have to be alone forever. Mom wouldn’t want that for you.”

John scoffs. “I don’t know. Might be too late to teach an old dog new tricks.”

Dean inclines his head toward Bobby and Ellen. “Tell that to them.” He pushes himself up from the chair and squeezes his father’s shoulder as he passes. After everything, just seeing John healthy and relatively happy is enough to put a smile on Dean’s face. For now, that’s enough.

Dean passes Ash talking to Meg and Balthazar on his way across the yard to the makeshift bar and does a double take. The three of them together doesn’t seem like it could possibly bode well for anyone. Ash spots him watching them and raises his bottle in a toast, mouth twisted into a mischievous smirk. Dean makes a mental note to mention that development to Cas.

“Daddy, can you get me a drink?” Ben comes to a skidding stop beside Dean’s leg as Dean is pulling a fresh bottle of beer out of the cooler.

“Sure, bug. You already had two sodas today. How about some water or some juice?”

Ben rolls his eyes dramatically and for a moment, Dean is transfixed by a vision of what Ben will be like as a teenager. He and Cas have their work cut out for them. “Water’s good. That fruit punch tastes funny,” Ben responds and just like that, he’s a little boy again.

“You havin’ fun with your friends?” Dean asks, pulling a bottle of water out of the ice and handing it to Ben. Once upon a time, Dean would have opened it for him but Cas is constantly nagging Dean not to do things for Ben that he can do for himself. He bites back a smile when Ben uses his shirt to grip the lid and twist it off.

“Uh huh. Maddie’s havin’ a birthday party next week and she asked me to come. It’s a sleeping over party but I told her I can’t sleep without my planets and she said I could bring it to her house.”

Dean is constantly amazed by the ease with which Ben accepts his needs and advocates for them. Where Dean might worry that the other children would think Ben was weird for needing a special nightlight, Ben just says what he needs and his friends accept it. It’s a lesson Dean thinks he could have stood to learn himself a little sooner.

“Sure. I’ll talk to her mom and we’ll work out the details,” Dean assures him, ruffling his hair.

Ben takes another big mouthful of water and swallows it, then turns to Dean. “Maddie’s daddy isn’t really her daddy,” he says. The comment seems random and out of the blue, but Dean has learned that nothing ever is with Ben. He waits patiently for Ben to finish his thought. A few more seconds pass before Ben continues. “Maddie’s daddy moved away when she was a baby and she doesn’t see him anymore, but her mommy married her new daddy and she calls him daddy even though she already has a daddy.”

“That happens sometimes.”

Ben tilts his head to the side, considering. “So you can call someone daddy even though you already have a daddy?”

Dean’s breath catches in his throat as he realizes where this is going. “Yeah, you can,” he answers carefully.

“So I could call Cas daddy too, even though I already have a daddy?” The look on Ben’s face is open and guileless.

Caught halfway between a smile and a sob, Dean nods. “It would be okay with me. Cas would probably be honored to be your dad, but we should ask him what he thinks,” he offers once he gets his voice to work again. His heart hitches painfully when he thinks about Ben calling Cas _daddy._ It’s the family Dean always wanted.

Ben finishes his water and hands the bottle back to Dean. He runs back to his friends, carefree and oblivious to the way that he just gutted Dean with his innocent request. The door to the house is just a few steps behind him and he heads that way to collect himself.

It’s quiet and cool in the house compared to the chaos and late August heat outside. Dean walks over and stops in front of the wall of windows, looking past the barrier separating him from the party in the backyard. He’s spent years completely immersed in a life that he thought he couldn’t change. Just on the other side of that window is proof that change is worth embracing.

School will be starting again in just four days and Ben will be returning as a first-grader. Things are so much different now than they were a year ago. Dean remembers being terrified at the prospect of Ben started school, of all the changes that would bring. He looks around the living room, with it’s vaulted ceiling and fireplace, and chuckles. Ben’s kindergarten year certainly brought changes, that’s for sure.

For so long, he thought nothing good ever came from change. Mary died and everything changed. Ash moved away and everything changed. Lisa died and everything changed. Change has always been something to fear. His eyes sweep over the dozens of people in his backyard, people that he would never have known but who have become family just as much as the one he was born with. Maybe not all change is something to fear. Sometimes pushing past the fear opens life up for things to change for the better.

He watches Ben chase Benny’s Charlotte across the yard, Juliet on his heels and laughs to himself. He’s not nervous about Ben going back to school. He and Ben have both grown into themselves this year and he knows that whatever challenges come up, they are more than ready to face them. After all, they have Cas in their corner now.

It feels weird to be grateful for Ben’s autism, but Dean would never have it any other way. No matter how difficult Ben can be sometimes, Dean wouldn’t change him for the world. He’s seen the brochures, the treatments that tout that they can cure Ben’s autism. Dean shakes his head at them. Even if it was possible, and he doesn’t think it is, he wouldn’t do it. There’s no line between where the autism stops and Ben begins. It’s part of him, part of what makes him Dean’s son and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

In a lot of ways, Dean should be doubly grateful. If it wasn’t for Ben’s uniqueness, they might never have found Cas. He’s completed their family like he was a missing piece they were just waiting to find.  The pieces are ragged and rough around the edges, but they fit together perfectly. The picture they make together is beautiful.

As if his thoughts conjure the man, he feels warm, gentle hands slide around his waist from behind, then Cas rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder. Cas’ chest is solid against Dean’s back, a tangible reminder that Cas is more than strong enough to support them both whenever they need it. They breathe together for a few moments, then Cas turns to press a soft kiss to the side of Dean’s neck. “What are doing in here by yourself?” he murmurs.

Dean leans his head to the side to give Cas more room. Warm, slightly chapped lips skate down his neck to his shoulder. “Just thinkin’”

“Good thoughts, I hope.”

Dean turns in Cas’ arms and presses his mouth to Cas’ for just a moment. “The best.”


	36. Time Stamp

It's hard to believe it's been almost two years since I posted the last chapter of this story. A lot of people have asked for a continuation, and I've always intended to write more in this universe. Well, here it is. I'm posting this chapter so people who subscribed to the original story will get the notification, but if you want notifications for additional time stamps or sequels in this universe, please subscribe to the series instead. I'll delete this chapter in a week or two and I won't be posting here every time a new part is added.

Thanks to every person who read, commented, or left a kudo. You all mean the world to me and are a big part of why I decided to continue this universe.

You can find the new time stamp here: [Courage in Unusual Places](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12917808)


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